


Shooting at Shadows

by WeOnlyEattheUglyOnes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeOnlyEattheUglyOnes/pseuds/WeOnlyEattheUglyOnes
Summary: Frankie has lived a hard life, but she gets by just fine, even if it is from day to day. The one person she hates most in the world is Hawkeye, but she never imagined she would ever get to act upon it until he just waltzes into the bar one day. Now she has her shot at extracting vengeance. If she thought her life was rough before, she has no idea what industrial sized can of worms she just opened. She better strap in and hang on!
Comments: 17
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“Where can I find Little Tito?” a resonant voice from the bar demanded.

Frankie sighed and brushed aside a strand of her dark hair that had escaped from the braids that pulled her hair back from her face.

“We’re not open yet,” she replied, not bothering to turn around, and continued to dry the glass in her hands. Manuel, the bar's owner, had called her in for the early shift because his nephew had failed to show up yet again and she was already out of patience. 

“I’m not here to drink,” the man behind her huffed. “I’m just looking for Little Tito.”

She ignored him and kept drying glasses. Telling him where Tito was wouldn’t do either of them any favors. All Tito’s friends knew where to find him and sending back someone who wasn’t a friend would only piss him off. She was already on thin ice with him. Nope. She was just going to mind her own business. Maybe he would give up and go away.

“Look,” he said after a bit, his words clipped, and his voice raised, “can you quit doing that and turn around?”

“I’m busy. Go bother someone else.”

She heard movement and hoped he was leaving. This was one of those times when the old mirrored bar back would have come in handy, but Manuel had been too cheap to replace it when it was broken during the battle for New York. 

Without warning, a strong hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around to be face to face with the bothersome man. He gripped the counter on either side of her hips and leaned into her personal space, only having to lean down a little to get in her face. Frankie recognized him instantly, how could she not? His was a face that taunted her in her nightmares night after night and left her burning with anger and despair. A steel band of hate wrapped itself around her chest making it hard to breath.

Cool blue eyes regarded her with annoyance. He had jumped over the bar and was standing so close that she could smell the sweat on his skin from the hot New York summer and, underlying that, the scent of the soap he used. Of course, he didn't recognize her. Why would he? She had just been another faceless victim of his thoughtless pursuit of vengeance.

“Do I have your attention now?”

She leaned as far away from him as the counter at her back would allow, and blew out a breath. “I don’t need any trouble,” she said carefully.

He nodded his understanding, “is he in the back?” He jerked his head towards the door that led to the back offices and storage rooms of the bar. Manuel let Tito conduct business back there in return for protection and other vaguer benefits one would get for accommodating a crime boss. Granted, Tito was little more than a small-time thug, but the world on the streets of Bedford Park was small and its denizens liked to keep it that way.

Not taking her dark eyes off him, she nodded almost imperceptibly. Behind her, she felt along the edge of the shelf for a small button. It had been installed decades ago and was one of the few things in the bar that Manuel bothered to have repaired or upgraded when needed. The original purpose of the button was to summon help from the back. Then, during the gang wars of the 80’s and the police crackdown on drugs in the 90’s, it became an alarm for those in the back. Now, in addition to the button, there were hidden cameras monitored from the main office, but someone had to be in there to see the feed. Frankie knew that Manuel was in the storeroom with Tito now.

His eyes flicked down quickly indicating he had caught the movement. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” his voice turned to steel and he reached for her arm, but she darted to the side, effectively putting more distance between them, and raised her hands were he could see them.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to save her job, can you?” she gave him a lopsided grin that she didn’t feel. Every instinct screamed for her to either run away or to slap the smug expression off his face. 

Caught between her flight or fight impulses and unable to act on either, she settled for defiance, raising her chin and meeting his eyes that were almost level with hers.

The corners of his eyes crinkled with humor. 

“You might want to find a new job.”

He hopped back over the bar, moving with feline grace and barely making a sound. As he stalked to the door, he looked back at her.

“You should leave.” Then he opened the door and disappeared through it.

Frankie sagged against the bar, letting out the breath she had unconsciously been holding. She couldn’t believe it. The one person she hated more than anyone else had been standing inches from her. She had fantasized for years about what she would do if she ever met him. Screaming at him. Hitting him. Stabbing him. Causing him the same pain he had caused her. He had been right there.  
And she had done nothing.

“I’m sorry, Rory,” she whispered to the silence of the bar, angry at herself for her inaction.

Resolutely, she pushed away from the bar. She was not going to miss the opportunity to extract the punishment he deserved. The only weapon she had available at the bar was the knife used to cut lemons and limes for drinks. The blade was only five inches long, but it was sharp as hell; she should know, she cut herself often enough with it. Picking it up and wrapping herself in righteous anger, she walked around the bar and towards the door.

Hawkeye was going to pay.

****  
She crept down the hallway trying to walk softly in her boots, only being somewhat successful. The first two doors she came to were open, but no one was inside. She expected that. Manuel and Tito were the only others in the building this time of day, besides her, and they were in the back storeroom. That door was standing ajar and she could hear the murmur of voices from inside.  
Standing outside the door, she jumped as she heard a thud and then a shriek of pain from inside.

“Fuck! I'm telling you the truth! We don’t have any of that shit here!”

“So, you don’t mind if I look around?” Hawkeye asked.

“Hell, knock yourself out,” Tito laughed. “If I had some of those, I wouldn’t still be hanging around this shit hole.”

“Get me down from here!” a voice cried that was barely recognizable as Manuel's.

“Shut up!” Tito told him.

“If you don’t have them, do you know who does?” 

“Why the hell should I tell you?”

“Because if you don’t, the next one goes through you.”

The silence that followed his threat was only broken by a moan from Manuel as Tito considered his options. Apparently, he decided it was in his best interest to cooperate because she heard him curse under his breath in Spanish.

“I’ve heard some rumors, but nothing concrete. I’ll ask around.”

“You have a day. I’ll be back tomorrow,” Hawkeye warned. “And don’t think about trying to avoid me. If you make me look for you, I’ll bring some help with me. And they won’t be willing to overlook your little business here like me,” he chuckled. “I don’t think you would like their reaction.”

“Hey, there’s no reason to get all hostile,” Tito said, his voice raised nearly an octave in alarm. “I told you I would ask around. I’m a man of my word.”

Frankie was about to push the door open and slip inside, when it was yanked open. Hawkeye was standing in front of the opening, his back to her and a hand on the door. Around his broad shoulders, she blanched at the sight of Manuel pinned to the wall with an arrow from the bow that the so-called 'good guy' held loosely at his side. Manuel might be a cheap bastard but she had worked for worse people.   
He certainly didn't deserve the torture that Hawkeye was dishing out. Frankie's resolve hardened.

“You better be,” he told Tito, then spun quickly to leave. She raised the knife and stepped into the doorway to meet him. 

His eyes widened with shock and pain. Both of them froze in place; her dark eyes locked on his.

From within the room, Tito called, “get back to the bar, girl!”

Frankie ignored his command, instead she leaned in and twisted the knife, hissing through her clenched teeth, “that’s for Rory, you bastard!”

Then she released her grip on the knife, spun away and sprinted down the hall and out into the main room. She ran behind the bar and grabbed her purse, not slowing, then out into the street. She didn’t stop running until she was two blocks away, then turned the corner and sagged against the building, gasping for breath. She had stabbed an Avenger. Oh, man, was she in a lot of trouble!


	2. Chapter 2

Six months later

Frankie looked over her cards at the man across the table from her. He looked back at her blandly.

“I’ll raise you twenty,” he said, throwing four red poker chips on the pile in the middle of the table.

The man to her right harrumphed and threw his cards down, “I’m out.”

She didn’t glance back down at her hand, instead she studied her opponent, looking for his tell. So far, she hadn’t been able to detect one, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there; it was just really subtle.

“Well, girl? Are you in or not?” he taunted her, his single gold tooth gleaming at her through the smoke that hung in the air.

Frankie had a full house, but it was a weak one: tens and sevens. It wouldn’t take a lot to beat it and Jimmy was betting too heavy for someone with a crappy hand. Either that, or he was bluffing big time. She looked down at her pile of chips. It wasn’t much bigger than when she started the game two hours ago and the pot in the middle was sweet.

“Don’t rush me, Jimmy,” she smiled sweetly at him. “It makes it hard to think.”

The four men around the table laughed and the one that had just folded, Carlos, leaned towards her. “Show me what you have, and I’ll tell you if you need to fold or bet,” he said with a smirk.

She almost laughed at that. It had taken her almost three months to get into their games and had been holding her own for the last two against them, yet they still treated her like a little girl playing dress up. If it hadn't worked to her advantage so well, she might get angry over it, but they keep underestimating her, so what the hell. Let them think she was out of her depth.

She was about to fold and cut her losses when she finally spotted it. Jimmy tapped his little finger with the gold ring lightly on the table. Just three little taps, but that was the second time she had seen him do that. The first time he had lost a hand when Carlos called his bluff.

She heaved a big sigh and shrugged, “oh, hell, it’s only money, right?” Acting reluctant, she laid her only remaining gray chip out, “I’ll see your twenty.”

Milo, on her left, shook his head, “only money? Baby, you have a lot to learn.” He threw in his cards. “Show us what you got.”

Jimmy cursed and put his cards on the table. He only had a pair of nines. Frankie grinned. He had been bluffing.

“You bet all that money on that?” she asked innocently as she showed her hand.

The other men groaned. “Fuck! I could have beat that!” Milo grumbled.

Carlos patted her shoulder. “It’s called bluffing. Once you play for a while, you’ll understand.”

She resisted rolling her eyes at the condescending tone of his voice and raked in the pile of chips. She had just more than doubled her money. She glanced up at the clock.

“Shit, I’ve got to go to work!”

Jimmy looked angry, “you got to give me a chance to win some of that back!”

Carlos came to her aid, “man, leave her be. Chubby will lose his shit if she’s late. You can win it back next weekend, right, Baby?”

“Am I invited back?”

“Of course,” he said, winking. “Like Jimmy said, you got to give us a chance to win our money back.”

She leaned over and kissed his greasy cheek, “thanks, Carlos. Cash me out.” Over her shoulder she told the others, “if you want to give me more of your money, I'll be at Chubby's all night.”

****

Outside, she hurried the three blocks down Wabash Avenue, pulling the collar of her heavy coat tight against her neck to keep out the cold wind that blew off the lake. In the months that she had been in Chicago she had learned that it was a lot like New York. She supposed all big cities were similar. They all had predictable neighborhoods: old vs new, rich vs poor, and ethnic enclaves. Frankie had settled easily in the rundown, tawdry area of South Loop; her not too light but not too dark complexion, dark hair and eyes, high cheek bones, full lips made her ethnicity ambiguous enough to blend in with almost any crowd.

She pushed through the door at Chubby’s, the bouncer on the other side nodded at her.

“Cutting it close, Frankie,” he rumbled.

She patted his dark arm as she walked by, “but not late, Tony.”

She wove her way through the crowd to the dressing rooms in the back. Four women in various stages of undress crowded around the two mirrors touching up their makeup.

“See, I told you she would make it,” a short, overly endowed blonde told the woman standing next to her.

“Why is everyone so worried?” Frankie asked them. “It’s not like I’m the headliner.”

“That’s for damn sure,” a gorgeous redhead quipped as she lounged in a chair nearby.

“Chubby put you up first tonight, that’s why,” the blonde told her.

“Oh! Shit, I better hurry. Thanks, Candi.” She went to her locker and deposited her purse with the $900 she had just won at poker and pulled out a bikini. Looking in the small mirror hanging on the inside of the door, she brushed her hair and applied some lip gloss.

“You’d get more tips if you tried harder,” another girl said from her place by a mirror.

“Honey, ain’t nothing going to cover up being plain,” the redhead drawled in a southern accent.

“It sure as hell will cover wrinkles, though. Right, Ginger?” Frankie asked her as she shimmied out of her clothes and pulled on the bikini. “Aren’t you the oldest one here?”

Ginger stood up and started towards Frankie but the club’s owner, Chubby, chose that moment to step into the dressing room. His rheumy eyes lingering on the half-dressed women.

“Causing trouble, Ginger?” he looked at her pointedly. He had a firm policy against fighting among his girls. Fighting girls meant scratches and scratches meant less money.

“She called me old,” Ginger pouted.

Chubby held up his hand to stop Frankie from protesting. “You are old, but you’re still beautiful and you still bring in the most money, so it doesn’t mean a damn thing.” Then he turned his attention to Frankie.  
“You’re up first.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

He looked at her gold bikini with a critical eye and grabbed something from the rack by the door, tossing it to her, “were the gold fringe.”

She caught the two lengths of fringe and draped one around her hips and the other under her bikini top. Standing in front of the full-length mirror she twisted from side to side, making the long fringe swing and brush against the tops of her thighs. It looked surprisingly sexy against her skin. Say what you want about Chubby, she thought, but he knew what made a girl look good. It may have been his only redeeming quality.

He gave her another once over then grunted his approval and left the room.

“Bitch,” Ginger muttered, back in her chair.

Frankie ignored her as she heard her stage name being called.

“Okay, Gentlemen, let’s get it up for Glory!”

There was a smattering of applause as the DJ introduced her and a couple of cat calls that got more enthusiastic when she stepped through the curtain and out onto the stage that stretched through the middle of the club. She mounted the stairs and strutted to the center as the first chords of Beyoncé's 6 Inch played.

Frankie knew she wasn't the most endowed or the prettiest of Chubby's girls. She was too thin and her face was too long and narrow to ever be called beautiful. Nor was she the best dancer. Her talent lay in assessing people quickly and using it to her advantage. She was a master at working the crowd. She immediately noticed a slightly built older guy halfway down the stage who looked like he could really use a pick-me-up. He was dressed in a very nice business suit and was absently twirling the ice in his drink.

She smiled and swayed down the stage to stand directly in front of him. For the next three minutes she swayed, gyrated, and smiled her encouragement at him, making him feel like he was the center of her attention. She enticed, flirted, and beguiled. At times she was classy, at others overtly raunchy. Of course, she had to include the others around him also, but her gaze always returned to him with a warm smile accompanying it. That was the trick, eye contact. It made them think she was singling him out, that he was special. Like others before him, it did the trick.

At intervals throughout her performance, she would remove an item of clothing, starting with the fringe and ending with her bikini top. When the music ended, she was clad in nothing more than a tiny G-sting that barely covered her clit. At one time in her life, she had thought stripping was one of the most degrading things imaginable and had sworn she would never be that desperate. Living under an overpass and not being able to sleep at night because she was scared to death of being mugged or raped had convinced her that there were different levels of degradation. Being hungry enough to dig through garbage looking for scraps had been the turning point. Now there was little she wouldn't do not to ever have to experience either again.

She left the stage with a $50 hanging from her g-string from the mousy businessman and a smattering of dollar bills from around the stage. She took her cut and stuffed it in her locker for safekeeping. Then she sat down and took her shoes off to rest for a moment before it was time to get ready for her next time on the stage.

For the rest of the night she worked the crowd, unaware that there was another set of eyes watching her from the shadows in the back of the club.

****

It was nearly 3am when Tony escorted Frankie to her Uber ride. It had been a good night. Friday's usually were. She had nearly $500 in her purse from the night. That combined with the money from the poker game earlier, she had rent for her studio apartment covered for the month, with some left over for food. One good thing about Chicago: apartments were a hell of a lot cheaper. Still, she missed New York. Maybe she could go back there one day.

It was strange, though. There had been nothing in the newspapers about the stabbing. Even if it hadn't been fatal, there should have been something, anything, in the news about it. She couldn't imagine that someone could just go around stabbing Avengers without there being a big uproar over it. Granted, public opinion was still divided over them. Some thought they were heroes. Others felt they were too powerful to be controlled and, thus, could not be trusted. She fell into the camp of the later. After all, she had seen firsthand the results of their wanton use of power.

Shutting and bolting the door behind her, she slipped out of her shoes and left them in the entrance way to be put away later. She was dead tired, and just wanted to go to bed, but she hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before and she was feeling lightheaded from hunger. She needed to eat something before she slept, or she would feel like shit in the morning.

Not bothering to turn on a light, she tossed her purse on the small table by the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was a box with some leftover fried rice and Szechuan Chicken that was only three days old. She popped it into the microwave and poured herself a glass of water while it heated. When the timer chimed, she pulled it out and turned to take it to the couch to eat.

“You're a hard person to find, Frankie,” a familiar voice said from the shadows on the other side of the room.

Frankie gasped and her dinner and water slipped out of her numb fingers. The glass shattered on the floor spraying her bare legs with water and shards of glass. On instinct, she spun and reached for the block that held her knives, but it wasn't there.

“Oh, no, there's no way I was leaving those where you could get to them. Not after our last meeting,” Hawkeye told her as he stalked across the room in the dim light that filtered through the windows. Details that she caught during their last encounter jumped out at her this time: the sword strapped across his shoulders and the bow that he held loosely at his side.

Trying not to panic, her eyes went to her purse only feet way on the table. She had a .38 special in it that she carried for protection. If ever there was a time she needed it, it was now.

His eyes followed hers. “Don't even think about it,” he warned.

But Frankie was not going down without a fight. She dashed for her purse, unmindful of the glass on the floor and her bare feet. Just before her hand touched it, the bow twanged, and an arrow pinned it to the wooden table. She froze where she stood, watching the quivering arrow and considering her options. They were getting narrower by the moment.

“The next one goes in you,” he growled, walking towards her. “Sit down.”

She briefly considered defying him, but he raised his bow with an arrow strung and pointed it at her.

“Sit. Down.”

Defeated for now, she sank into a chair. Hawkeye approached, grasped the arrow in her purse, pulled it free, and stuck it back into the quiver on his back, then he dug inside her purse and pulled out the handgun. She tried to keep her expression steady, but she must have given something away because his eyes flicked to her momentarily before he reached back into the purse and found her can of mace, followed by a switchblade and a butterfly knife.

“You expecting trouble?” he asked with a wry grin.

“I was a girl scout,” Frankie shrugged. “You know, 'always be prepared'.”

He snorted. “That's the boy scouts.”

“Huh, that explains why I was always being thrown out of camp.”

He looked like he was going to smile, but then just shook his head. Coming close, he bent down and grabbed her right wrist and cuffed it to the leg of the chair she sat in. Then he retreated and took one of the other chairs.

“I've been looking for you for months.”

“Well, now you found me. What are you going to do to me?” She asked.

He ignored her question. “When I got out of the hospital, I went back to the bar. Your boss, Manuel, couldn't wait to rat you out.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her curiously. “The problem was the name he knew you by didn't exist. The name you rented your apartment under did exist, but it belonged to a really sweet seventy-year-old lady. The deeper I dug, the less I found. You were a ghost.”

Frankie was only listening to him with half an ear. Her mind was whirling, evaluating and discarding options quickly. She was also testing the cuff, twisted her wrist in it to find out how much play there was to work with. He hadn't put it on too tight and there was a bit, but not much; just enough to not cause her discomfort. Still she continued to twist her wrist. If she could free her hand, she would open up more options. One step at a time, she told herself. First, free her hand.

“Good thing I have friends with serious computer skills,” he continued, oblivious to her internal dialog. “They were finally able to find a sealed juvenile record for a Francesca Cabrini. The mugshot was pretty terrible, but it was definitely you. From there I was able to trace you back to the orphanage you were raised in and a series of foster homes.”

She flinched when he said the name the nuns had given her at the orphanage. They named all their charges after dead saints and dear old Saint Francesca was the name pulled out of the hat for her. She hated it. That's why she always went by Frankie instead.

“Your birth certificate was no help. Both parents were listed as 'unknown'.”

Again, she flinched. It sucked to be reminded that she had been so completely unwanted.

“When you were fourteen, you ran away from your foster home and just dropped off the map, until you were picked up for beating up that homeless man two years later.”

He paused here and waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he asked, “what did he do to you?”

She just shrugged, “it doesn't matter. It was a long time ago.”

“It must have mattered to you then; you nearly beat him to death. There was a lot of anger there. The only reason you were never charged is because he disappeared after he was released from the hospital.” He leaned forward and asked her in a soft voice, “what did he do to you to make you that angry?”

Frankie had enough of this shit. “What the fuck do you care?” she spat. “Look, whatever you are going to do, do it. Just don't sit there and pretend you care about someone like me. People like me and Rory are just trash that people like you throw away like we're nothing!”

“That's the second time you've thrown that name in my face,” his brows drew down over his hooded eyes. “Who is he and what do you think I did to him?”

Furious tears involuntarily gathered in her eyes and she blinked furiously to keep them from falling. He didn't even know the name of the boy whose life had been cut short by his actions.

“Fuck you. I'm through talking,” she turned her head away from him and stared out the window behind her. Through the dirty and torn screen, she could see the building across the narrow alley and, more importantly, the fire escape. A viable option finally presented itself. But her fatigue and hunger were kicking back in. She was definitely feeling lightheaded, so she needed to act soon, or her body was going to turn against her. It didn't help that her right foot was starting to throb from the sliver of glass in it. She was trying to keep as much of it off the floor as she could to keep from pushing the glass in deeper.

At her side, she twisted her wrist in the cuff again. At some point over the last few minutes, she must have broken skin with her efforts because her wrist was burning and she could feel the stickiness of her blood making her wrist slippery, and she could slide more of her hand through the cuff with each attempt. She tried not to flinch at the pain she was causing herself.

Across the table from her, Hawkeye sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. That was the second time she had seen him do it. Frankie almost smiled. She had found his tell. He was bluffing. He didn't know what to do with her now that he caught her. Obviously, he had not though past that point in his planning. Well, his shortsightedness would work to her advantage.

Surreptitiously, her eyes darted towards the door of the apartment and then immediately back to him. At the same time, she purposely tensed her muscles. He took the bait. He stood and looked at the door of the apartment then back at her. She met his eyes with a calmness that so completely belied the situation even the most trusting of people would suspect something and this man was not a trusting individual.

Hawkeye walked over to the entrance and to the closet door that was set into the wall just inside the front door. Turning so he could keep an eye on her as well as the closet, he slowly turned the knob and eased it open. Of course, there was nothing in there but outerwear and shoes, the same as many other apartments across the city.

As he stood there, trying to figure out her game, Frankie gave her wrist a final hard tug and twist and it popped out of the cuff, taking off a strip of skin in the process. To hide her grunt of pain, she let out a mocking laugh.

“Made you look!” she giggled.

He glared at her, slammed the door, and stormed back across the small space to lean over her.

“Do you think this is funny?” he snarled.

She leaned forward, hiding her now free hand, “it's fucking hilarious. Know what's even funnier?”

“What?” He was only inched away from her face now; she could feel every exhalation he made.

“This!”

She snapped her head forward slamming her forehead into the bridge of his nose the quickly kicked him in the balls as hard as she could. Just like any other man, he curled down and around to protect them from further injury. Unlike any other man, he kept his wits about him enough to spin away from her to get out her reach quickly. But Frankie had spent her youth on the streets, and she was both quick and tough. She also was not above playing dirty. She stood, grabbing the back of the chair and swinging it up and over to smash it over his head. He was a bit too fast for it to be completely effective, instead the chair slammed into his right shoulder and knocked him to the side and against the kitchen cabinets.

That was enough for Frankie. She had already calculated how long it would take her to reach the front door to escape and it was too long. Plus Hawkeye was blocking her most direct route. Behind her, though, was the large window that led to the fire escape on the back of the building. She shoved the table across the floor to be a temporary barrier between them and went for the window.

Now that adrenaline had kicked in, she could ignore the pain of the glass in her f00t and was feeling more clearheaded than before. She dove through the ragged screen and landed on her back on the fire escape, not the most graceful exit, but, hell, at this point she would take it.

An arrow twanged past her head, encouraging her to get to her feet and move. As a kid in the city, fire escapes had been her jungle gym. She was able to fly down them, sliding with her hands on the rails instead of actually using the stairs. The only time her feet touched the grating was on the landings. She could hear him right above her, chasing her, but as long as she was under him, the grating would keep him from using his arrows.

Midway down, she chanced a look up and was alarmed to see that he was much closer to her than she anticipated. She was fast, but apparently, he was faster. On the next landing she spied a cable reaching from the side of the building to the one across the alley. She vaulted over the railing and leaped for the cable, saying a quick mental prayer to Saint Francesca that it wasn't a power line. She grabbed it with one hand that began climbing across hand over hand. From the sounds behind her, Hawkeye was continuing down the fire escape rather than following her.

She had almost made it across when she heard the twang of his bow. Shit, she thought, he was tired of playing and was just going to kill her and be done with it. To her surprise, the arrow flew past her and severed the cable she was hanging from.

She landing heavily in a pile of garbage on the side of the alley and rolled gracelessly again to extract herself. Scrambling to her feet she took off towards the mouth of the alley, ignoring the pain from her foot. She had dealt with far worse from the nuns at the orphanage. It was still too early for any crowds as sunrise was still a few hours away, but there was a convenience store just around the corner that was open 24/7.

But he was ahead of her, stepping out of the shadows with his bow drawn.

“That's enough!”

Frankie still wasn't done, though. She skidded to halt and spun around to run back down the alley. She was only a few feet from the deep darkness that enshrouded the depths of the alley when a new figure floated down front of her. He was clad in a form fitting gray bodysuit with a gold cape and had some kind of red mask that covered his entire face. It was hard to make out any more details in the dim lighting.

“Excuse me, miss, but you seem to be injured. If you will stop running, we will get you some medical attention,” he said in a calm, amiable voice.

Frankie skidded to a halt and spun around to go back, right into the black armored chest of Hawkeye, who immediately grasped her upper arms to held her still. He looked around her at the other man.

“She's hurt? Where?”

“She has numerous small wounds on her feet with what appears to be glass in them, and she is also bleeding from her right wrist,” the stranger said coming up behind her soundlessly.

Frankie wasn't going down without a fight, though. She kicked out at him again, but he anticipated her action and twisted to the side to block her. When that failed, she brought her hands up to use her nails against him. He let go of her arms and grabbed her wrists to prevent it.

“Some help here, Vision?” he asked the other one as he tried to protect himself from her attacks.

Frankie felt something cold on her neck, then blackness claimed her.


	3. Chapter 3

“Come on, Frankie,” Rory whined. “I've been studying all weekend. Let's at least go out and get some of Wang's dumplings.”

She looked over at the clock, it was only five. They should have enough time to go have dinner and still get back home for him to study a bit more before bedtime. It shouldn't hurt anything. Besides, he really didn't need to study anymore. Rory had turned into a voracious learner once she had convinced him that it was worth his effort. He absorbed everything he read or heard like a sponge. He was easily the smartest kid in his school.

“Okay, grab your coat,” she conceded.

“Thanks, Frankie!” the sixteen-year-old yelled over his shoulder as he ran to his room. “You rock!”

“Just don't make me regret this!” She yelled after him, even though she knew he wouldn't. He had been studying hard for the last two months. One more hour wasn't really going to make a difference. He was going to blow the SAT exam out of the water tomorrow. Then, next year, instead of starting his senior year at the public school he attended, he could start taking college courses at the local community college.

She was so proud. He would be able to make something of himself and not have to spend the rest of his life hustling to make rent like she did. He had come a long way from the little street rat that had tried to steal her purse three years ago.

Rory came out of his room with a big goofy grin on his face as he pulled on his worn, thrift store coat she had bought him for his birthday. It was his favorite shade of green and even though it was a little big on him still, he had been thrilled when he opened it.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah, let's go.”

Before they could reach the door to the apartment, the floor started shaking. Alarmed, she looked back at Rory, but he was just standing there staring at her blankly. His coat was torn and bloody.

“Rory!” Frankie screamed.

The floor shuddered under her and it felt like she was falling.

“Rory!” she screamed again, reaching for him.

“Hold her still for Christ's sake!” a rough voice snapped.

“I'm trying, but the sedative is wearing off. She's coming to,” came a calm voice that she almost recognized.

“Then get your ass up in the cockpit and get us out of this turbulence!” the first voice directed. “I can't dig glass out of a moving target!”

Frankie became aware of her surroundings slowly. She was lying on a hard surface and there were straps across her chest, abdomen, and upper thighs. Both of her wrists were similarly restrained. Somebody had a tight grip on her foot and was hurting her. She tried to kick.

“Ouch! Stop it!”

Hawkeye looked up from what he was doing and met her eyes. The bridge of his nose was turning black from her blow and she could see a trace of blood still lingering around one of his nostrils. He held up a pair of forceps grasping a bloody piece of glass.

“I'm trying to dig all the glass out of your feet,” he told her and tossed the shard into a metal bowl. “But if you want to keep walking around like this,” he shrugged, “that's your call.”

She let her head fall back. “Fine,” she huffed.

This time she held still as he went back to extracting the glass pieces. As he worked, she surveyed her surroundings. Fan-fucking-tastic, she thought. She was in some kind of tricked out aircraft. Probably one of those fancy Quinn jets she was always seeing on the news in association with Shield and the Avengers. She wasn't going to be able to escape while they were in the air, so she might as well cooperate and let them fix her up. The shuddering and vibrations she had felt eased up somewhat as the other guy, Vision, piloted the jet into a more stable part of the atmosphere.

The clank of the forceps being dropped into the bowl drew her attention back to Hawkeye. He was wrapping gauze around her foot. The other foot was already similarly bandaged. When he was done with his ministrations, he wiped his hands on a cloth and turned his attention back to her.

He held her gaze for several seconds before he asked, “so, are you going to tell me what I did to make you hate me so much?”

She frowned and looked away from him. He stood and moved to the side of the aircraft and sat in one of the seats mounted to the wall.

“I'm guessing it has something to do with this Rory you keep mentioning.”

She nodded slightly.

He sighed heavily, “and he is probably dead. Right?”

Tears burned her eyes as she nodded again.

“When did it happen?” he asked gently.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Almost five years ago. Right after the Blip started.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “What happened?”

Frankie was too tired to work up any anger, so she chose to just ignore him.

There was a bright flash and the aircraft bucked under her. The cot she was strapped to slid across the floor and crashed into a console. Hawkeye was thrown out of his seat and onto the floor. The lights inside the craft turned read and alarms started shrieking for attention.

“What the hell, Vision?” Hawkeye yelled, pushing himself up off the floor.

“We've been hit by some kind of energy weapon,” came the response from the cockpit area.

“What kind of energy weapon?”

“Unknown,” Vision replied calmly, “but it came from a rooftop in the city.”

Hawkeye turned to Frankie, “you okay?”

“Unstrap me!” she demanded as she twisted in the restraints.

“Not on your life,” he told her as he went forward to the cockpit. “Stay put!”

“Like I have a choice,” Frankie complained, but he had already turned his attention to the controls of the jet and was no longer paying attention to her.

“That's okay, I'll just hang out here and hope not to die!” she yelled at the back of his head. Of course, he ignored her.

The jet lurched again, and the cot slid towards the back of the craft. Frankie frantically worked her wrists, trying to get one free. The one that she had ripped out of the cuff earlier that night was bandaged and hurt like a son of a bitch, but that didn't stop her from twisting it in the strap. Once again, in his efforts not to case her any harm, Hawkeye hadn't tightened the strap on that wrist as much as he should have. She was able to pull that wrist free and reached up to unbuckle the strap across her chest. From there she was able to get free of all the straps.

She sat up in the cot just in time for it to fall out from under her as the jet suddenly lost altitude. The feeling of weightlessness only lasted a few seconds before the cot rose back up to meet her. A yelp of surprise escaped before she could stop it, causing Hawkeye to look over his shoulder.

“Shit! Hold on!” he yelled as Vision turned the craft hard to the left.

“They're still shooting at us,” Vision told him.

“No shit. Shoot back at them!”

“That would be unwise. We would cause more collateral damage and we do not need the negative publicity.”

“So, you're going to let them shoot us out of the sky? That makes sense,” Hawkeye threw his hands in the air in frustration.

While they were arguing, Frankie smelled something burning and looked around for its source. In the back of the jet, an electrical panel had smoke coming out of it. On the front of the panel was a red sticker with “DANGER” written on it.

“Um, guys?” she called out.

“I am trying to get out of range and find a place to safely land. But if you feel you can do a better job, then I will turn over the controls to you,” Vision replied to Hawkeye.

“How long before we're out of range?”

“Ninety-three seconds.”

Now, not only was smoke coming from the panel, but she could see flames coming out of some of the seams.

“Guys!” Frankie yelled.

“Not now!” Hawkeye yelled without looking back. “There's a heliport on the west side in the medical district. Can we make it?”

“I do not think the damage is too severe. If we can get out of range before we get hit again.”

“Okay, asshole, I'll take care of it myself,” Frankie muttered to herself, looking around for a fire extinguisher. There was one near the back of the jet opposite the burning electrical panel. She got up and used the wall to stay upright since the jet was still lurching from side to side. When she reached the canister, she pulled it free of its hanger and looked at the picture directions on its side. She had never used on before, but the pictures made it seem simple.

She pulled the pin and walked across to the panel, pointed the nozzle at it and depressed the handle. A fog came out of the nozzle and she directed it onto the panel, but nothing was happening. The smoke and flames were still there.

“Now what?” she asked herself. She remembered something a guy she had dated once told her. He was a licensed electrician and like to tell her stories about his job and he had once told her about an electrical fire. She remembered him telling her that the best way to put out an electrical fire was to shut off the power. After that, it was just a regular fire and could be put out easily.

“Okay, all I have to do it turn off the power.” she looked around. “If I was the switch for this bitch, where would I be?”

Her eyes fell on a big red button on the wall next to the panel that was labeled “Emergency Shut Off”.

“Hello.” But that seemed just a bit too obvious. Surely it wasn't that easy.

“Hey?” she tried to get Hawkeye's attention again to ask him, but he was still arguing with Vision about shooting back at the people that were shooting at them.

She sighed and turned back to the panel. The smoke coming out of it was turning black and the flames looked worst. It was also giving off an acrid smell that burned her nose.

“Well, here goes nothing.” She reached around the panel, careful not to get too close and pushed the red button.

Immediately, the red light went out and the alarms shut off. The entire back end of the jet went dark and quiet.

“Oh, that's not good.” She started looking for the “ON” switch.

****

The Quinn jet was heaving under her feet like a bad amusement park ride. Not that Frankie had ever been to an amusement park, but this was how she imagined it. Alone in the darkened back of the jet while Hawkeye and Vision argued and tried to keep it in the air, she looked around for something to undo whatever she had just done. Pushing the red button again did nothing, so she looked for a master ON switch.

Not seeing one on her side of the jet, she turned to search the other side and ran into a solid chest that was beginning to become very familiar.

“I told you to stay put,” Hawkeye told her, grabbing her arm firmly.

Frankie tried without success to pull away from him. “I was trying to keep your jet from going up in flames,” she snapped and pointed to the still smoking electric panel with her free hand. “Without any help from you!” she added. “Now let me go, you overbearing jackass!”

Hawkeye looked at the panel and sighed before turning his attention back to her. “We've got to make an emergency landing. You need to sit down and strap in.” He let go of her arm and pointed to a jump seat just behind the cockpit.

“You could have started with that instead of man-handling me,” she huffed and pushed past him.

Unfortunately, the jet chose that moment to drop out from under her feet again flinging her forward back into Hawkeye's chest. He was able to maintain his balance, and caught her tightly, holding her in place as the jet dove again.

“Damn it, Vision!”

“Incoming!” came the answer from the cockpit.

The arms around her tensed as a roar filled the jet around them. Over his shoulder, Frankie saw with shock that a whole section of the craft just vanished into the night sky. Through the hole, she could see the neo-gothic outline of the Tribune Tower as her breath was sucked away along with the rest of the air in the jet.

The craft tilted wildly and, still locked together, the two of them fell towards the hole. Frankie let loose an involuntarily scream as they were almost sucked out of the cabin. At the last moment, though, Hawkeye released her and grabbed the sides of the opening to stop them. Frankie also grabbed the edges and wrapped her legs around his torso adding her strength to his to keep them in the jet.

Another shudder wracked the jet and they were sucked further out the hole. Frankie groaned with the effort to hang on to the jagged edges. Then the jet righted itself and tilted away from the opening, giving them some relief. She unlocked her legs and pushed away from him to step back and give him room as he pulled himself back into the jet.

Grudgingly, she held out a hand to help. He had, after all saved her life. It was the least she could do.

“Thanks,” she sighed. “That was....,”

The jet banked hard and smashed into the Tribune Tower knocking Frankie back onto the deck. While she scrambled to find a handhold to brace herself, she looked over at Hawkeye. But he was gone. Nothing but the hole remained as the jet dipped and plummeted towards the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

“I've got her,” an unknown male voice said nearby. “Let me do my job.”

Frankie could hear sirens and gun shots, but they came from far away and couldn't distract her from the pressure on her chest. She was shifted, making the pain worse and she gasped in protest.

“Easy,” came the voice again. “I have to move you to get you untangled from this mess.”

“Is she ok?” an anxious voice called from a short distance away. It was oddly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

“Yes, Sir. Just let the other's through with the gurney. We'll have her out of her in a moment.”

She was jostled again and tried to open her eyes, but they didn't want to obey the commands from her brain. She couldn't blame them. She really didn't want to see the aftermath of the wreck. 

Suddenly, the weight across her chest was gone and she could breath again. She heaved a breath, but choked on the sharp stab of pain that followed the movement. Spots of light appeared behind her closed eyelids and the ringing in her ears intensified. Then the world was mercifully shrouded in darkness and everything faded away.

****

Rory skipped ahead of her on the sidewalk, turning to talk to her excitedly. His teenage exuberance was contagious and Frankie grinned back at him.

“So, Mr. Carson says that if I make high enough on my SAT, I can qualify for scholarship. He wants me to take calculus and physics my first year. But I think it sucks to have to take classes all over again that I took in high school.”

She let him ramble on, smiling. He was so excited about the idea of going to college. Three years ago, when she first met him, he wasn't even going to school. It was amazing what a little love and a stable environment, poor as it was, could do. She had given him what no one had given her: a chance. Never mind that she had worked three jobs to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table, just so he could focus on school. Every exhausting day had been worth seeing him so happy.

“Did you hear me?” he had stopped in front of her to get her attention.

“Yes, and I was considering my answer,” she told him. “But my opinion isn't the one that matters. What do you want to do?”

“Well, being an architect sounds cool and all, but I've been reading about it, and it is a very tight job market with no guarantee of success. Structural engineering is really the way to go. Engineers are always in demand.”

“What would you do as a structural engineer?”

He chewed his lip and looked down, “you'll laugh.”

Frankie shrugged. “Maybe, but you'll never know if you don't tell me.”

“I want to build low cost housing that people like you and Mrs. Olson can afford. Buildings that don't look rundown and old. A place you would be proud to call your home.” The admission rushed out of him.

She grinned at him, “that is a dream to be proud of, Rory,” and wrapped an arm around him for a quick hug.

He hugged her back, but didn't let go. Instead his arms around her tightened until her ribs hurt.

“Rory, let go! You're hurting me,” she pushed at him, but the body that her hands met was bony and didn't feel like her young ward. She looked at his face and gasped. A grotesque skeletal visage leered back at her, the bloodshot eyes deep in their lidless sockets.

Frankie pushed desperately at the nightmare, but strong hands gripped her arms and held them down, making her fight against them even harder. Panic rose in her when she could not free herself.

“Miss!” an insistent voice demanded. “You have to lie still or you will injure yourself further!”

Frankie quit thrashing and drew a deep breath, struggling to control her irrational fear. Opening her eyes, she looked around, seeking something to focus on. She was laying in a soft bed in an immaculate room adorned in soft, soothing shades of cream and gray. A young man, probably in his mid twenties, leaned over her with a concerned expression in his brown eyes.

She released her grasp of his white scrubs and lay back. “Where am I?”

The man stepped a respectful distance back from her bed. “You're at the Westmoreland Care Facility.”

She had figured she would be at one of the city hospitals like Mercy, but this was way to posh to be one of those. She had never heard of Westmoreland, but she had only been in Chicago for six months.

“Westmoreland?” She attempted to moisten her dry lips, but her tongue was just as dry.

“Yes. We're a private facility that provides discrete care for our clients,” he explained as he held a cup with a straw to her mouth for her to take a sip. “I'm Roger, your private nurse's aide for the day.”

“How did I get here?”

“In an ambulance,” he said as she were a child.

“No,” she tried again, “why am I here?”

“You were in pretty bad shape when you arrived. You had a concussion and five broken ribs. One of them punctured you right lung and it had collapsed. They had to removed several pieces of shrapnel. You had lost a lot of blood. You have a total of 102 stitches from them along with the lacerations on your hands and right foot.” He paused and regarded her gravely. “You are lucky to be alive. That crash was bad.”

“What about the other two?”

“The other two?” His brow furrowed with confusion. “Oh, you mean the Avengers you were with? I thought you were asking about two other civilians, not them. They are fine, of course,” he said with a finality that suggested thinking otherwise was lunacy.

“Of course,” she echoed. “Do they know I'm here?”

He shook his head, “not unless you inform them yourself.”

She felt like she was going around in circles and it was starting to irritate the shit out of her.

“Who is responsible for my being here?” she asked carefully. “I'm sure the ambulance didn't just pick me up on the streets of downtown and bring me here on it's own. Plus, I can't afford this,” she waved her hand to indicate the room.

Roger shrugged, “I'm sorry Miss, I don't have that information. But, if you are admitted, be assured that arrangements for the bill have already been made.”

“By who?”

Again he shrugged, “I'm sorry, I don't have that information.”

“Who does?”

“The administrator.”

“Well, I would like to see this person.”

“I'm...”

“If you say 'I'm sorry' one more time, I'm going to get out of this bed and beat you to death that IV stand!”

Roger looked at her doubtfully and she returned his stare, daring him to say it again.

“It's Sunday,” he finally told her. “The administrator will not be back in until tomorrow.”

“Sunday? I've been out for over a day?”

“No, Miss, you've been out for over a week. You arrived last Saturday.”

“A week?” she repeated weakly.

Roger nodded.

Frankie pushed the blanket back that covered her and tried to sit up. “Where are my clothes?

Roger frowned and stepped forward to push her back down, “you can't leave. The doctor hasn't released you yet.”

“Then get the doctor in here!”

Roger looked down and cast a furtive glance towards the corner of the room, “I'll let him know you're awake, if you promise to stay in bed.”

“Fine,” Frankie petulantly agreed and watched him warily as he left the room. Once he closed he door behind him, she sighed and closed her eyes intending to gather her thoughts.

When she opened her eyes again, Roger and the nurse, whose name she still didn't know, were standing at the foot of her bed in quiet conversation that ceased when they noticed she was awake.

“Good!” the nurse announced briskly, smoothing down the front of her scrubs. “Let's get your vitals before Dr. Gibbs arrives.”

For the next few minutes, Frankie was poked and prodded as the nurse went about her task. The sour faced woman didn't offer her name or wear a name tag, so Frankie decided to just call her Nurse Ratchet. She had just finished jotting down the results on a clipboard that hung at the foot of her bed, when the door opened and a tall, lean man with a receding hairline strode in. 

“How's our patient this morning?” he asked in a cheerful tone.

The nurse silently handed him the clipboard, which he barely looked at before passing it back to her. He walked over to Frankie's side and looked down at her. Even though he was smiling, it didn't reach his hard gray eyes. Frankie struggled not to squirm under their scrutiny.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, but I'm ready to get out of this bed and go home,” she replied, giving him a weak smile back.

“Hmm, let's check your stitches first.”

With that, Frankie had to submit to an examination of all her wounds. Dr Gibbs' hands were strangely warm and gentle against her skin, completely at odds with the icy stare he had subjected her too. Did he linger too long in some places or was he just being thorough? Either way, his touch creeped her out and made her feel violated. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when it was over.

“I think you need to stay in bed for at least another day, to make sure all the stitches hold. We wouldn't want you to pull any out and risk getting an infection, now would we?” He said consolingly. Frankie noticed his eyes darting over to the same corner that Roger had glanced at earlier. What the hell were they looking at? There was nothing in that corner but an exceedingly bland painting and a small table holding a plant. What game were they playing?

Dr. Gibbs cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him..

Frankie gritted her teeth, “no, that would be bad.” 

“Good,” he patted her on the thigh. This time his had did linger a bit too long and a bit too high. “I will check on you again tomorrow and see how you are progressing. In the meantime, I think it would be okay for you go back on solid food. Just nothing too spicy or greasy.” He gave her another of his smiles that didn't reach his eyes and left the room with the nurse in tow.

Roger turned to her with a real smile, “fantastic! Let me get you a menu and you can pick your meals for the day.” 

Once he had left the room, Frankie allowed her anger to surface. She let out a small scream of frustration and beat the bed with her fists. She kicked the end of the bed and immediately regretted it when pain flared from her foot, which pissed her off even more. She wallowed in anger for a few minutes, considering all kinds of nasty ways to take it out on Dr. Creepy, Nurse Ratchet, and Roger. When she ran out of options for them, she fantasized about stabbing Hawkeye again or pushing him out of the jet. He was the reason for all of this mess to begin with. If it wasn't for him, she would still be in New York and Rory would be alive and studying engineering.

Fuck! How she hated that man!

****

After a surprisingly tasty and refreshing lunch, Frankie asked Roger for something to read to pass the time. He went to a nearby desk and returned with a tablet.

“It is loaded with several apps already, but you can customize it as you wish. An account has already been set up for you. Your user name and password are on that post it note.”

After he left, she opened up the tablet and searched for the Westmoreland Care Facility. She was shocked to discover that there was nothing about it on the web. Her searches for Westmoreland and facility resulting in multitudes of hits, most from Westmoreland, Tennessee. She doubted she was in Tennessee. At least she hoped she wasn't in Tennessee. 

Something wasn't right about this whole setup. She was a nobody and she knew nobody important enough to be able to afford this kind of place. Roger seemed like a nice guy, but he was too nice. Nobody was that nice without a good reason. After years of living on the streets she knew better than to trust anyone offering kindness. Either they wanted something from you, were about to do something to you, or someone else was paying to do something to you. 

After several fruitless minutes, she sighed and changed her search. This time she was more successful. There were a multitude of news articles about the crash of the Quinn jet in downtown Chicago. There was no mention about her in any of the articles or about Hawkeye falling out of the jet. Frankie searched for more recent news on the superheroes, but apparently they had a quiet week. Did she get lucky? Did he die in the fall? It would be better than he deserved. Hopefully, the rest of the Avengers wouldn't try to blame his death on her. 

Suddenly, being isolated in a facility that didn't exist on the internet didn't seem so bad.

****

The day wore by slowly. Frankie read a few things on the tablet and halfheartedly watched a little television on the monstrously large screen mounted across from her bed. But Frankie was not used to being idle. She had spent her entire life hustling constantly and the inactivity being forced upon her now was not sitting well. It was starting to make her paranoid. She felt like she was being watched constantly and it made her skin crawl.

When Roger returned later with her dinner, she immediately tried to sit up, only to have him rush over and push her gently back down. It was pitiful how little effort he had to put into it.

“When can I get up? I'm going nuts just laying here,” she huffed.

“The doc will be in to see you in the morning and make the decision. Until then, you need to stay still and not pull out any of your stitches.” What had been a soothing voice earlier, sounded off to her now. His eyes darted sideways towards the right side of the room, then immediately back to her. It took all of her will power not to look over also. 

After he raised her head so she could eat, and laid out her dinner, he excused himself and left quickly. Curiosity burned through her, but she forced herself to eat her soup calmly as if nothing of note had happened. She would look into things later, when the staff was reduced for the night and there were less prying eyes around. Something wasn't right, though, and she wanted to know what she had fallen into this time. Being paranoid was a survival strategy for her that was tried and true.

****

After an excruciatingly long, boring afternoon, Frankie was finally left alone for the evening. Checking the clock on the wall for the zillionth time, she gave a sigh of relief. It was finally time to move. Throwing back the blanket, she sat up gingerly, expecting pain and was surprised when the movement only caused her discomfort, mostly from being immobile for such a prolong length of time. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood up. The room swam for a moment before her equilibrium settled.

Looking around the dim room, she made her way to the mysterious corner that seemed to hold everyone's interest. The table was a compact and made for corners; its surface was almost completely taken up by the silk plant. She pushed the fake foliage aside, but found nothing of interest. Taking the plant off the table, she turned it over and carefully examined every nook and cranny. Still nothing. Huffing with irritation, she returned the table and the plant to their positions.

Next, she looked closely at the painting of sunflowers, her favorite flower. The bright orange of the blooms always made her feel happy. She was surprised to see that it was an actual painting; even in the dim light of the room, she could see the brushstrokes. It was simplistic in nature and somewhat clumsily executed. It reminded her of a child's art that a proud parent would display on the refrigerator. Mixed in with the sleek, modern furniture in the rest of the room, it seemed oddly out of place.

Even odder was the ornate frame that held it. Heavy and gilded, with elaborate swirls and flourishes, it overshadowed the simple painting. Running her fingers over the details, she paused as she noticed a change of texture. The center of one of the swirls was smooth and cool to the touch. Running her thumb over it, it felt like glass instead of painted wood.

Frankie pulled on the painting to lift it off its hanger so she could take it to her bathroom and examine it under the light, but it refused to budge. She couldn't so much as get her pinkie between it and the wall. It was as if it was built into the wall instead of being mounted on it. Frankie had seen enough spy movies to know what that meant: there was a camera behind the painting that someone was using to spy on her with. In fact, they could be watching her right now as she discovered their secret.

“You can't blame a girl for being curious, can you?” she asked the unseen watcher with a lopsided grin, then froze when the door to her room creaked as it was pushed open.


	5. Chapter 5

“I should have known you wouldn't do what you were told,” an eerily familiar voice said from behind her.

Frankie turned away from the painting slowly and walked back to bed on quaking legs. Clutching the nightstand for support, she flicked on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft light. Her visitor stayed where he was in the doorway, shrouded in shadows.

“Who...,” she started in a quavering voice, then stopped. She took a slow breath, let go of the table and stood up straight. She didn't have rules, per se, but she did have a few guiding principles. Never showing others your weakness was one of them.

“Who are you?” she asked in a more steady voice.

“Never show weakness,” he chuckled softly.

Frankie's heart nearly stopped. How did he know what she was thinking?

She stepped away from the bed and approached him cautiously. When she was within arms' reach, she pushed the door open completely and peered into the gloom. He was taller than her by nearly a foot and she had to crane her neck to look up at his face in the dim light filtering in from outside.

“Who are you?”

“You know, you just don't want to say it,” he answered cryptically.

She had enough of this game, though, and darted over to flip the light switch by the door, flooding the room with harsh fluorescent light. Squinting at the sudden brightness, she studied the face of the man in front of her.

His face was tanned by the sun, with a neatly trimmed mustache and beard covering the lower half. A scar stretched from his forehead, splitting his left eyebrow, skipping his eye, then continuing down his cheek to his jaw. Light green eyes watched her intently from under heavy brows. She would know those eyes anywhere, on any face.

“Rory?” she asked in disbelief, shaking her head. “This is impossible. I must be dreaming about you again.”

He shook his head, “I'm not a dream, Frankie. I'm real.”

Her brain refused to form coherent thoughts as she opened and closed her mouth several times, but nothing came out.

One corner of Rory's mouth quirked up, “this is a first. I don't think I've ever seen you speechless.”

His voice was deeper than she remembered, with a rough edge to it, but it was still Rory's voice. With a squeal of delight, Frankie flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

“Oh my God! It's really you.” Tears pricked behind her eyelids and she didn't fight them as they escaped and trickled down her cheeks. “I thought you were dead.” She buried her face in his chest, overwhelmed by emotions.

Rory stood stock still, as if in shock, then slowly raised his arms and returned her hug. He rested his chin on the top of her head and held her as she shook. Too soon, though, the relief of discovering him alive changed into something more familiar to Frankie.

Pushing away from him, she glared up through tear soaked lashes, “I thought you were dead,” she ground out. She punched him in the chest then spun away from him to stalk across the room.

“Five years! You let me believe you were dead for five years,” she accused.

Rory made no move towards her, he just stood still in the doorway and letting the tempest roll over him.

“You couldn't have found me? Sent me a letter or, hell, even a fucking post card? Something to let me know you were still alive? I've been mourning you all this time.”

She collapsed into a chair and looked at him in anguish, “I attacked and tried to kill Him for what he did to you.”

This statement made Rory move finally. He strode into the room and dropped down in front of Frankie and took her hands in his.

“I know,” he looked her in the eyes. “He deserved it. I almost did die that day. I was buried under the rubble for hours waiting to die.”

“I looked for you. I tried to find you, to reach you.” She shut her eyes against the pain of the memory. “But they told me that it might be days before they could recover your body. They said the dogs couldn't find you, so you were gone.”

“I wasn't,” something cold and dark flickered in his eyes. 

She swallowed, “I'm so sorry.”

He abruptly stood and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, “it's over and in the past. It's time to move forward.”

“Come,” he held out a hand to her and smiled, whatever she thought she had seen in his expression gone, “Let me give you the tour.”

****

What she had imagined outside her door was nothing like what greeted her as Rory led her from the room. Instead of the sterile beige-walled corridors of a hospital, she was greeted by rough concrete arching overhead and extending into the shadows in either direction. Another door was directly opposite the one they just exited and Frankie could see at least two other pairs in both directions. Only the area immediately around them was illuminated by lights recessed into the concrete at shoulder height.

Without a word, Rory turned right and started walking and she hurried after him.

“What is this place? It's not a hospital.”

They walked by two sets of doors, the lights coming on as they neared each and the ones behind them dimming as they walked away, before Rory answered her question.

“This is the medical wing, but, no, this is not a hospital. It is a base of operations for the organization I work for.”

Rounding a corner, another rough corridor stretched away from them. This one was brightly lit it's entire length, possibly because at least half a dozen people traversed it. Frankie could see that other corridors branched off from it, some of the people turning down them, others going through doors. One person, a middle-aged man wearing a white lab coat, hurried towards them.

“Commander,” he dropped into stride beside Rory, ignoring Frankie, “I need your authorization to use the mass spectrometer. Dr. Munro's team has been monopolizing it for the last week and...”

He trailed off as Rory stopped and raised his hand, “Dr. DeGorge, you must have forgotten that the Dr. Monro's research is our priority at this time.”

Dr. DeGorge stood up straighter and huffed, “Munro is a second rate hack and his research is based on dubious science at best. What my team and I are doing will revolutionize robotics for years to come.”

Frankie watched the exchange with interest, Rory's body language suggested he was an authority figure and the doctor had called him 'commander'. Commander of what? Was Rory in the military? Neither of them had been fans of the armed forces when they were living together; both of them agreed that the vast amounts of money spent on the military could be put to far better use within the country.

Rory leaned closer to the doctor, dwarfing the smaller man, and lowered his voice, “perhaps you would like to take your complaint to Ms Jones in the D-wing?” 

Though his voice held no threat that Frankie could discern, the doctor blanched and took a quick step backwards.

“No, Commander,” he swallowed and adjusted the glasses resting on his nose, “that won't be necessary. I'm sure I can work with Dr. Munro and arrange to use the equipment when his team isn't using it.”

Rory nodded, “good thinking, Doctor. Was there anything else I could do for you?”

“Um, no.... No, Commander. My apologies for interrupting you this evening.” 

The doctor waiting for Rory to dismiss him before practically running down the corridor and disappearing down around a corner.

Rory turned back towards Frankie, “shall we continue?”

“Commander?”

He nodded his head briefly.

“Commander of what?”

He looked down at her, “you'll see in a moment.”

“You know I don't like surprises, Rory.”

Again with the half-hearted smile, “I know.”

When he said nothing else, Frankie decided to bide her time. After all, it had been five years since they last spoke. Obviously, he had built a new life for himself since them. A new life where he was a commander in whatever this was. Frankie felt an unfamiliar pang of something. Regret? Jealousy? Maybe a little of both. She almost hated herself for going on with her life as if he had never existed. She had never let anyone into her life until Rory had come along. There had been something about the boy she unexpectedly found foraging in her favorite dumpster all those years ago. Something that held promise in his big green eyes as he looked up at her, expecting her to steal what tidbit he had just discovered and send him on his way to search some other dumpster. Instead, she took him under her wing and taught him the ways of the streets and, together, they had thrived.

She had not let anyone else into her life since his death. No, she reminded herself, since she left him to die.

Rory's hand pulled her to a stop and he looked down at her expectantly.

“I'm sorry, I didn't here that.”

“This is a lot for you to take in, isn't it, Frankie?” His brown furrowed and his eyes held real concern.

She nodded, “I still can't get over how you are still alive. Can you at least tell me how that happened. The rescue team was sure you were, you know...,”

“Dead?” his lips compressed into a straight line. “Come.”

With a grip on her arm, he pulled her into the room they had stopped in front of. Dropping her arm once the door shut behind them, he strode across to a large metal desk and took the chair behind it, beckoning her to take the chair across from him. The room was mostly bare, holding just the desk, four chairs including the ones they occupied, and a long table pushed up against the right wall. The entire left wall was covered by vertical blinds, whatever lay beyond it hidden from view.

“You aren't going to let it go until I tell you, are you?”

She shrugged a shoulder, “you know me.”

“Yes, I do.”

He looked over at the left wall, then at Frankie sitting in the chair with her feet tucked under her waiting for his explanation.

“Like I told you, I was trapped in the rubble for hours. I couldn't hear anything at all. I thought I had been abandoned.”

You had, Frankie thought with a sick feeling in her gut.

“I had given up and about to drift off. Anything to end the pain. But worse than the pain was the cold. I was so cold, Frankie. Remember the winter when the city was hit with that blizzard and it got so fucking cold?”

She nodded. Of course she remember. They had huddled together in an abandoned car with only a few dirty blankets to ward off the cold. Rory had shivered so hard that he cracked one of his teeth. The next night she found an derelict building occupied by other homeless individuals she knew and they had spent the rest of the week waiting out the bitter cold huddled around a burning barrel.

“It was like that,” he continued, “only you weren't there to keep my mind occupied.”

She started to tell him she was sorry again, but he held up his hand to forestall her.

“Right as I was fading, I heard something. The rubble shifting. A clang of the scaffolding. I thought finally someone was there to rescue me. I started yelling again. My voice was raw from the cold and from yelling for help hours before, but I wasn't giving up after all. My will to live prevailed. Then I could hear voices calling to me, telling me they were coming.”

He paused and looked down at his hands grasped together on the desk in front of him. “When the chunk of concrete over me was lifted, the light from their flashlights was like light from heaven. They pulled me from the wreckage and took me to a facility similar to this one. My face was pretty messed up and required surgery. Now I have this scar,” he indicated his face.

“They took care of me until I was healed, then they made me one of them. I found out I was a natural for this kind of work, so I excelled.”

He leaned back in his chair, looking pleased and confident, “now I'm in charge.”

His explanation only answered some of Frankie's questions, and created even more. Her eyes darted back to the blinds on the left then back to Rory.

“Who are they? And what is this? Where the hell are we?”

He chuckled at the barrage of questions. “It's killing you, I know. Go ahead. Go look.” He nodded at the blinds.

Frankie looked at him for a moment, trying to decide, but he was right. There was something in her that despised secrets. Uncurling from the chair, she pushed herself up and walked towards the wall of blinds. As she approached, Rory pushed a button on a panel mounted on his desk and the blinds pulled back, sliding out of her way.

She stopped in shock at the scene that spread out below her. 

It was a vast underground hanger. More than two dozen people scurried about performing their duties: loading ammunition, working on engines, fueling up vehicles. Electric carts darted back and forth, carrying people and equipment. In neat rows down the middle were jets and helicopters of various sizes. Surrounding them were cars, trucks, vans, and motorcycles. In the far back of the hanger, Frankie could make out what looked like tanks.

Everyone of them had a red circle painted on the side with a black skull and six tentacles.

“Welcome to Hydra, Frankie,” Rory said from behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

Frankie spun away from the window to face Rory.

“No, I cannot believe you are part of this. For God’s sake, Rory, these people are evil! They’re terrorists.”

“Are they really?” Rory asked her. “Think about it. Where does all the information about Hydra come from?”

“Everywhere. They’re always in the news.”

“You’re smarter than that, Frankie,” Rory turned and strode back to his desk, leaving her to follow him back across the room. 

“Okay,” Frankie started ticking off fingers. “They infiltrated SHIELD, crashed a helicarrier, unleashed a super soldier on the world to tear apart the Avengers, and…,” her voice tapered off.

“Go ahead, keep going,” he urged her with a smirk.

“I’m sure there’s a lot more I can’t think of right now.”

“Are you sure?” He leaned back against his desk to wait.

Frankie flushed as she searched furiously through her memories and came up blank. She was sure there was a lot out there about the organization, though.

“Oh, and they shot the jet out of the sky that I was on. Which is how I ended up here in the first place.” She shot him a triumphant look.

“So,” he drug the word out, “all you can come up with is,” he mockingly held up fingers to count off, “infiltrating a secret organization with no government oversight and exposing them to the public; destroying a secret war machine built by said organization; duplicating a serum used by them; and shooting a jet out of the sky in an attempt to rescue you from the Avenger who’s actions five years ago almost killed me and who has been stalking you for six months?”

Frankie crossed her arms across her chest and reluctantly conceded, “well, when you put it like that, it does sound pretty weak.”

He chuckled, “why don’t you sit back down and let me tell you about the history between Hydra and SHIELD.”

She nodded and returned to her chair, “this better be good.”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” he also returned to his chair. “I don’t know if you were aware, but the roots of Hydra date back centuries to a group that worshipped an extraterrestrial being.”

She frowned, “that isn’t reassuring, Rory.”

He laughed, “no, but I’m going to be completely honest with you. Just like you always were with me.”

His reminder of their life together was like a knife through her heart. After everything that happened, she owed it to him to hear him out. But she swore to herself that she would do everything in her power to get him out of whatever mess he was in with Hydra. No matter what.

She nodded, “go on, then.”

“I know it sounds bad but think about the world at that time. The most powerful civilizations believed in gods that were blue with multiple arms, had the head of a jackal or ibis, turned into swans to seduce women, or threw lightning bolts. Was worship of an advanced being so far-fetched? When other cultures were burning women at the stake for being witches, members of this group were sending people through a wormhole to the other side of the universe in order to commune with their deity.”

“When you put it like that, no, it doesn’t sound so crazy,” she cautiously agreed. “But there’s still the Nazi business and the terrorism. You can’t explain that away, Rory.”

“No, I can’t,” he sighed heavily. “But what long-lived organizations do not have unsavory incidents in their history? The United States has many. Genocide of the native population, slavery, racism, and persecution of minorities are all part of its history. Even some of the Avengers aren’t as pure as they would lead the public to believe. Bucky Barnes…,”

“Wait,” Frankie held up a hand to stop him, “you can’t hold his past against him because Hydra brainwashed or programed or whatever the hell it did to him in order to make him follow orders.” She leaned back and leveled a triumphant look across the desk at Rory. Above and to the left of him, she noticed a camera mounted to the wall; one of those discrete bubble cameras that department stores like to use. So, someone was watching and pulling his strings. Interesting.

“I was going to say,” he continued, drawing her attention back to him, “that Bucky Barnes isn’t the only Avenger with a less than pristine past. Tony Start was a megalomaniac whose company sold arms to the highest bidders. Natasha Romanoff was a spy and assassin for Russia. Our least favorite one, Clint Barton…,”

“Who?”

Rory frowned at her interruption. “Hawkeye.”

“Oh, so that’s his name. I didn’t know.”

“Well, I made an effort to learn the name of the man that almost killed me, Frankie,” a not so gentle rebuff that stung. “Anyway, he was a circus performer then a thief before SHIELD recruited him. And that was much more recent than World War II.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, “surely you aren’t comparing being a thief to working with Nazi Germany?”

“No,” he said impatiently. “I am just pointing out that people, countries, and organizations can learn from their mistakes and grow; become better, something to be proud of.”

“How has Hydra become better?”

“One thing that was learned during its time with the Nazis was the price of unchecked power. And it recognized the beginning of that kind of power in the organization that created a serum for super soldiers and tested it on a human being in secret. Then, when it succeeded, did they share it with the US or any of its allies? No, they fought tooth and nail to keep the secret for themselves.”

“When Germany fell, Hydra turned its eyes towards that secretive organization. Over the next decades it watched as SHIELD spread its tentacles out into governments and organizations all over the world. Drawing top scientists into its ranks. Gaining power as it grew. Hydra grew with it, planting eyes and ears everywhere, just like SHIELD. Then when extraordinary individuals became known to it, SHIELD formed the Avengers, a group of the most powerful beings on the planet. A group not answerable to any government.” Rory rose, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward. “What would happen if these individuals were allowed to run rampant?”

Her lips thinned into a scowl at yet another dig on his part, it was starting to get under her skin. “You know as well as I do what happened.”

“Besides an unhinged Clint Barton on a vigilante killing spree? How about a rampaging Hulk destroying a large swath of a city? A psychotic AI created by Start and Banner ripping an entire city out of the ground? A mythical god leading an alien invasion because he was jealous of his brother? And finally, luring a being bent on killing half of every living thing in the universe to earth because they were hoarding alien artifacts.”

He straightened and walked around the desk to stand in front of Frankie, making her crane her neck to look up at him. “Think about it. Every major disaster that has happened over the last decade has the same common denominator: The Avengers. Not Hydra.”

He had a point, although it was an overly simplified one. She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“Someone or something has to be the watchdog, has to be the counterweight to such vast power. Something has to hold them accountable for their actions, wouldn’t you agree?”

He leaned down, putting his eyes level with hers and his face mere inches away, “Tell me, Frankie, who will demand justice for the boy who had his future taken away by their careless disregard for the rest of humanity?” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, “Did it feel good when you stabbed Barton?”

Frankie shoved him out of her way and jumped out of the chair, crossing to the wall opposite the window to put distance between them. She leaned her forehead against its cool surface and closed her eyes, struggling to control her breathing.

“What do you want from me?”

“Help us hold them accountable, Frankie. Help me find justice.”

She knew he was pulling her strings now, playing with the guilt and anger that had plagued her for the last five years. Yet, he was right. Hawkeye --Clint Barton, she corrected herself-- had brought the side of a building down on a teenage boy that everyone presumed died and had not been held accountable. Instead he had been welcomed back into the Avengers with open arms, like nothing had happened. Like Rory didn’t matter. And when she had extracted revenge, no different that was he had been on the streets doing at that time, she had to abandon her life and go into hiding in a different city. And Barton had hunted her down there, like a criminal. And abducted her. Yet there was nothing about it in the news.

Life wasn’t fair to begin with, but it seemed overly skewed in favor of the Avengers. Maybe someone did need to tip the scales in the other direction.

She turned and leaned against the wall, appraising him. “How?”

“The branch of Hydra in North America is an independent entity. Nobody controls us. Our only focus is finding a way to limit the power that the Avengers wield. ‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.’ That is our goal. Information is our currency.”

Rory crossed the room to her but kept a comfortable distance between them this time. “Dear Friend, you are an expert at reading people and putting them at ease. You are the perfect person for intelligence gathering. I’m asking you to put your skills to use once more, like when you helped me turn my life around. Do it this time for a greater cause.”

He held out his hand and waited quietly.

Frankie chewed her lip, thinking. She didn’t buy into the benevolence line he was giving her about Hydra. True, it might be his truth, but she was good at reading people and she sensed that he was withholding something. Her eyes flickered to the camera behind him again. She had to buy some time to find out what hold Hydra had on him.

Pushing away from the wall, she grasped his hand with hers, “I’ll give you a chance to prove what you say is true. Then I’ll decide whether or not I will help.”

The smile that lit up his face was one hundred percent the boy she had loved, “Deal.”


	7. Chapter 7

After they reached their agreement, Rory escorted her to her room. To her surprise, instead of leading her back to the room she had spent her recovery in, he led her in the opposite direction, to a smaller, less lavishly appointed room.

“So, no more hospital and creepy Dr. Gibbs and Nurse Ratchet?” She walked over to the small, round table in the corner of the room. It was just big enough to allow two chairs to be pushed up under it. There was a neatly folded stack of clothes on its shiny surface.

“Nurse who?” Rory didn’t enter the room; he just stood in the open doorway.

“Nurse Ratchet,” she picked up the article on top of the stack; it was a plain black tee shirt. Under it was another. “You know, the nurse in the medical area with a really crappy bedside manner. I never did get her name.”

Rory snorted, “Nurse Barnet. Yeah, she rubs a lot of people the wrong way. Encourages them to keep their infirmary visits short and infrequent.”

“Effective. I know I wanted to get the hell out of there as quick as possible.” She held up a black pair of pants and turned back to face him, “black on black? Some kind of uniform?”

“It’s the best we could do on short notice. Unless you prefer to continue wearing your current attire?” he indicated her hospital gown she had forgotten she was wearing.

Her face flushed and she reached around to make sure the back wasn’t gaping open, exposing her ass to everyone she had passed in the hall.

“I didn’t think so. We can find you something more to your liking tomorrow.”

“This will do, thank you, Rory.” She paused, “for everything. I don’t know what Barton had planned for me, but I’m sure I wouldn’t have liked it.”

She held up her still bandaged hand, “and thank you for stitching me up.”

Rory looked down and sighed, “I have conflicting emotions about you, Frankie. I know you aren’t responsible for any of what happened to me and you never would have abandoned me if you had known I was still alive. But I’m still angry about it and I often catch myself projecting that anger onto you.” He shrugged, “it’s not fair to you, but I can’t help it.”

He raised his head and looked her in the eyes, “Even after all that, I still love you dearly. There isn’t any scenario that I can imagine where I wouldn’t do anything to keep you from harm.”

Frankie’s eyes burned; the boy she had raised was still there, but he was all grown up. Despite her misgivings about his involvement with Hydra, she was proud of the man he had become. Crossing the small space, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. This time, he readily hugged her back.

Kissing the top of her head, he pushed her back a little so he could look down into her face. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her bandaged hand, “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Now get some sleep. You’re going to have a busy day tomorrow.”

She nodded, “good night, Rory.”

“Good night, Frankie.”

After the door shut behind him, Frankie surveyed the room.

“First things first,” she muttered to herself and, using the pretense of putting away the extra change of clothes in the dresser, covertly searched the room for a camera. Now that she knew what to look for, it didn’t take long to locate it. On the smoke detector installed near the door to room was an LED slightly larger than the other two. 

Picking up the remaining set of clothes, she went to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door. Ten minutes of searching revealed no obvious camera, so she allowed herself to relax a little and made use of the shower. The water was deliciously hot even though it stung a couple of her worst wounds. Feeling much better, Frankie dressed in the clean clothes provided and returned to the main room. Turning off the light, she crawled into the bed and turned towards the wall, away from the prying camera.

Though it was late, and she was tired, she lay awake mulling over what she had seen and been told by Rory. Setting aside the fact that she was in a Hydra compound and the cameras watching everyone, something else seemed off about everything; something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She kept turning it over and over in her mind trying to pin down what was bothering her. It was early in the morning before sleep finally claimed her.

****

The next morning, she was awoken by a knock on her door. Climbing wearily out of the bed, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she opened the door. She had expected Rory but was greeted by a solemn young woman.

“Good morning, Frankie,” she held out her hand. “I’m Jeannine. The commander assigned me to escort you around today.”

“Um, good morning.” Frankie shook the proffered hand. Jeannine was several inches shorter than her and on the plump side, but that may have been just the unflattering beige slacks and white blouse she was wearing. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost 8:00. I wanted to make sure I didn’t wake you too early since you had a late night.” She took in Frankie’s tangled hair and sleep-wrinkled clothes and held out a small black case, “here’s a couple of things you might appreciate. You know, toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush, deodorant. Things like that. I’ll be back in about 20 minutes and take you to the cafeteria for breakfast. Okay?”

Frankie took the bag, “thanks, but I don’t have a watch and I haven’t seen my phone since I’ve been here.”

“Oh, there’s a little battery-operated clock in there. I’ve already set it for you.”

“Looks like you thought of everything. Thanks.” She took a step back into her room.

“Oh, it was nothing. We have tons of those kits in the warehouse,” Jeannine replied, “just for these kinds of situations.”

“This kind of thing happens often?” Frankie was taken aback by the casual statement.

Jeannine blanched. “Oh, no,” she hurriedly replied, waving a hand in dismissal. “We just have people coming and going all the time. You know how it is when you travel; you always forget something.” Her short laugh was unconvincing.

Frankie nodded as if she understood, “I see.”

“Well, I’ll let you freshen up and be back in twenty. Okay?”

“Okay,” she replied as she shut the door. 

That was interesting.

****

Breakfast in the cafeteria was equally interesting. At such a late hour, there were only a handful of people in the area. Oddly, even though Jeannine informed her that everyone knew she had been personally recruited by the Commander, nobody peppered her with questions. Quite the opposite, in fact. The few people she was introduced to went out of their way to avoid asking questions and answered her questions warily, if at all.

Sitting at their table speaking in a quiet tone, Jeannine explained how all the projects that the facility was working on were segregated. Each team worked as an autonomous group, answering only to the Commander. Only three people knew the details of every project: The Commander, his lieutenant, Percy Adams, and the head of security, Ms. Jones. Frankie would be meeting Adams and Jones during the morning.

Jeannine also explained that Adams would be the one to assign her to a team and that she would probably be paired with a more senior member who would act as her mentor for several weeks.

“What team are you on?” Frankie asked.

“I’m on Dr. DeGorge’s team,” she answered, blushing when she said the name of the doctor.

“Wait, I think I kind of met him last night,” Frankie recalled the exchange between Rory and the man. “Robotics, right?”

The other woman nodded, “yes, but I’m not allowed to talk about anything we’re working on outside of the team.”

“Why not?”

Jeannine raised her eyebrows at the question and leaned towards Frankie across the table, “because they are always trying to infiltrate us to ferret out our secrets.”

“They?”

This earned her an eye roll. “SHIELD and the Avengers,” she said in an exaggerated whisper. “Don’t you know that most of their fancy gear and technology was stolen from us?”

Ok, I’ll bite, Frankie thought and leaned in also. “No! Really?”

“Of course!” her companion scoffed. “You don’t think a pampered, rich, megalomaniac like Tony Stark really built his first Iron Man suit in a cave, do you? That’s just the cover story. He wasn’t being held hostage; he was out there selling weapons to terrorists in exchange for a prototype suit stolen from a Hydra research facility.”

“I never thought much about it,” she admitted.

Jeannine leaned back in her chair with a huff, “of course not. That’s the problem! Nobody bothers to question the shit they are fed every day by the press. SHIELD controls the press, so they control the flow of information. But things are starting to change. With all the cell phones, cameras, and internet, it’s getting harder for them to cover their asses. People are starting to question the intentions of these so-called heroes.”

That is something Frankie could understand after being caught in the collateral damage of Hawkeye’s vigilante rampage in New York. She nodded, “true, but don’t you worry about some of Hydra’s methods?”

Jeannine slapped the table, “haven’t you been listening? Shield controls the media so you can’t trust anything you hear or see from it.”

Wow, she’s really drank the cool aid. “I guess I’ll just have to judge for myself.”

Nodding her head with satisfaction, Jeannine urged, “just try to keep an open mind. We are not the bad guys here.” She motioned at the mostly empty plate in front of Frankie, “if you’re done, we should get going. Ms. Jones wants to meet you before I take you to see Mr. Adams.”

“Yeah, I’m done. Let’s go.”

Frankie began to realize how vast the underground complex was as her guide led her through the warren of corridors. Most of the people they encountered greeted Jeannine with nods and smiles, a couple of them stopping to chat amiably for a few moments before allowing them to continue their way. 

After the second stop, she asked, “does everybody know each other here?”

Jeannine shrugged, “there’s only a couple hundred of us here and we see each other every day.”

Frankie stopped, “wait. Do all of you live down here?”

“Of course, we do. If we commuted every day, SHIELD might be able to follow one of us and find this facility,” she explained as if Frankie was a slow child before turning to continue down the corridor.

Frankie grabbed her by the arm to stop her, “no, wait. When’s the last time you’ve been outside?”

Jeannine chewed on her lower lip as she thought. “I went with team to test one of our designs about six months ago. Other than that, I’ve been down here since I got here just over a year ago. Why?”

“So how do you know what’s going on out there?”

Jeannine’s face darkened as she understood what Frankie was getting at. “You think we’re being kept in the dark? You think we are as clueless about what’s going on as those sheeple up there?” She jabbed a finger towards the ceiling and raised her voice.   
“We’re some of the best and brightest that the scientific world has to offer, and you think we’re idiots?”

Frankie held up her hands and took a step back, “no, that’s not what I’m saying. What I am saying is that you guys are pretty much cut off down here, so how do you keep up with what’s going on in the world?”

But Jeannine wasn’t ready to back down. “We may be secluded down here, but we aren’t cut off. We have our phones, computers, and televisions. We still get the internet. We can watch the news and talk to our families. Hydra isn’t keeping us in the dark. They’re keeping us safe.”

Frankie wasn’t buying it, though. Her distrust of institutions, government, superhero, or other, drove her to question their intentions. Hell, she questioned everyone’s intentions. In her experience, nobody did anything for altruistic reasons. Everyone, everything, had an agenda and their actions were always in service of that agenda. But she wasn’t helping herself by alienating her only acquaintance here.

“I’m sorry, Jeannine. I guess I’m a little paranoid, given my recent encounters with the so-called good guys.”

The other woman visibly calmed herself and took a deep breath before smiling sheepishly, “I’m sorry, too. I may have over-reacted just a bit.”

Just a bit? You think? “Look, I’ll keep an open mind about this place, but I’m going to ask questions. I think you would understand that.”

“Of course. Like I said, I over-reacted.”

As they continued down the corridor, Frankie wondered if everyone she met was going to be so prickly about her questions. She was going to have to take a softer approach.


	8. Chapter 8

Ms. Jones was not what she expected. Frankie had pictured the head of security, whose very mention had made Dr. DeGorge tuck his tail and run, as some pinched-faced, overbearing figure. The actual Jones that stood and came to great her with a warm smile was a diminutive blonde with the face of an angel.

“Frankie, it’s so nice to finally get to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you that I feel as if I already know you,” she said in a slight southern accent.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage them, Ms. Jones,” she replied as she took the proffered hand. Jones’ hand was cool to the touch and gripped hers firmly.

“Glenda, please,” she replied as she turned to Jeannine standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Thank you, Jeannine. I will make sure Frankie makes it to her next destination.”

Frankie almost snickered at the name. Glenda was a fitting name for the woman. Her hair was styled and fell in soft waves just past her shoulders without a strand out of place, her manicure was impeccable, and her powder blue suit didn’t have a single crease even though she had been sitting behind her desk. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out where DeGorge’s fear had come from.

She couldn’t help but notice that Jeannine looked relieved to be dismissed and wasted no time in backing into the corridor and shutting the door behind her.

“Come, have a seat,” Glenda beckoned, returning to her side of the desk. “The commander has told me a lot about you.”

“How long have you known Rory,” Frankie asked as she sat.

“For about three years now. He’s quite the rising star, you know. That’s why he’s running this facility.”

“He’s only 23 years old. Surely there are older, more experienced people in Hydra?” That is the one thing that had been bothering her. How was someone so young being trusted to run this entire place?

“Hydra rewards its people based on their abilities and deeds, not on political machinations or mere seniority. That’s what sets us apart from the governments and other organizations of the world. Look at me,” she leaned back in her chair. “Do I look like your average head of security?”

“Considering that the only ‘security’ I’ve ever been around were bouncers at titty bars, I’m really not in any position to say.”

Glenda’s jaw ticked.

“Well, let me assure you, I am not average.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Frankie agreed. She wasn’t going to get anywhere by aggravating the woman. “But I’m also sure that this is a pretty big operation to be running the security for. They must have a lot of faith in your abilities.”

Glenda relaxed a tiny bit, “I’m going to be frank with you. Rory seems to trust you, but I didn’t get where I am trusting anyone.” Her smooth accent had all but disappeared and her blue eyes grew icy. “I personally screened and approved every person that works here. I don’t like wild cards, and you, Frankie, are a wild card. That bugs me like a splinter under my skin that I can’t get out. And that makes me irritable.”

“Then tell Rory I’m out and send me back topside,” Frankie replied easily. “Problem solved.”

“No, problem not solved.” Glenda got up and came around the desk to stand in front of her, glaring. It was all Frankie could do not to get up and put some distance between them. “Rory would never go for it and I’ve got orders to keep him happy. So, let me spell out how we are going to handle this. I am going to have someone with you whenever you are not in your room. You will be issued a security badge that you will always have on you. You will obey the rules. You will keep your head down and do what you’re told.”

She leaned forward and put her face close enough to Frankie’s that she could smell the mint of the mouthwash Glenda had used that morning. “If I so much as catch a hint that you are doing anything to undermine what we are doing here, I will personally put a bullet in your head. Am I clear?”

Frankie nodded numbly, unnerved.

“Good. Then I’m sure we are going to get along just fine,” Glenda straightened back up and walked back to her chair, her intensity evaporating and her accent reappearing.

She pressed a button on her desk phone, “Andi, Ms. Cabrini is ready to leave.”

The door to the office opened almost immediately and an older woman stuck her head in.

“If you’ll follow me, Ms. Cabrini?”

****

Following a silent Andi, Frankie mulled over the strange meeting. While it didn’t go as well as she had hoped, she did get two things from it. One, Glenda was one unhinged bitch. No wonder people were afraid of her. She would have to tread carefully if she wanted to avoid being on the receiving end of a bullet. But having spent her life on the streets hustling, that wouldn’t be a problem. She just had to convince these people that she drank the same cool aid as them.

Second, and maybe more important, was the fact that there was someone else giving the orders above Rory even though he claimed this cell was autonomous. But that just brought up more questions. Was Rory aware that there was someone else pulling the strings? Who was this person?

One thing for sure, though. She needed an ally. Someone who hadn’t bought fully into this ‘Hydra is just misunderstood’ line of crap she was getting so far.

****

Her meeting with Rory’s lieutenant, Percy Adams, was anticlimactic after her encounter with Glenda, the bad witch of Hydra. He was almost an exact opposite of the head of security: tall, thin and unkept. As he spoke, he was in constant motion, his arms waving and gesturing.

“Rory told me you would be a good fit for intelligence,” his path around the room took him behind his desk where he picked up a folder from one of the stacks scattered across it and briefly thumbed through its contents. “Yes, I think we have the perfect place for you in our organization.”

He looked up from the folder at her expectantly and she nodded to indicate her interest, “what do you have in mind?”

Setting the folder back down on the desk on a different stack, where it immediately slid off and onto the floor.

“Oh, dear,” Percy sighed as he knelt to gather up the mess.

“Here,” Frankie squatted by his side and grabbed up several sheets of paper closest to her, “let me help you with that.”

Together they gathered up the papers and returned them to the folder. Percy didn’t notice when two of the sheets that Frankie had gathered didn’t make it back into their proper place, instead ending up in her purse.

“Where were we?” he asked, pushing his glassed back up on his nose for what had to be the tenth time in the few minutes she had been in his office.

“You were going to tell me what job you had in mind for me,” she prompted.

“Ah, yes,” he said absently as he resumed his fluttering around the room. “I’m going to assign you to Jacob Stern’s team. He’s the head of our intelligence department. They have an opening for a field operative that I’m sure you will be perfect for.”

“An opening?”

“Yes,” he hummed as he opened the door, “terrible about what happened to Mindy.” He gestured for her to leave, “But I’ll let Jacob fill you in. Nice meeting you, Frankie. And welcome to Hydra.”

The door shut immediately behind her, leaving her in the corridor slightly bewildered. Frankie looked around, getting her bearings to figure out how to get back to her room.

“Ah, there you are!” Jeannine called out as she rounded a corner. “You ready?”

Frankie frowned at the other woman, confused. “Ready?”

“For me to take you to your team, of course,” she beamed like it was Christmas morning. “What team did he put you on?”

“Intelligence with Jacob Stern.”

Jeannine bounced and clapped her hands with delight, “oh, how fun! There are some great people in that group. You are going to love it!”

She turned and started down the hall, leaving Frankie to catch up or get left behind.

“So,” she started as she stepped up beside Jeannine, “what happened to Mindy?”

Jeannine frowned at the name, “I’m not sure I’m allowed to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Jeannine stopped and looked around before continuing, “she was a spy.” She dropped her voice to a whisper at the last word.

Frankie rolled her eyes, “of course she was, that was her job.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jeannine leaned closer and kept her voice low. “She was a spy for THEM.”

Them? Oh! “You mean SHIELD?”

“Shush, don’t say that so loudly!” Jeannine grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down the hall further away from any doors. “She was sent here to spy on us by them, yes. But Ms. Jones figured it out before she could do any real damage.”

“Where is Mindy now?”

Jeannine shrugged, “I don’t know and don’t care. All I know is that we had to change all our passwords and security protocols after she left. It was a huge pain in the ass. I hope that woman got what she deserved,” she finished fervently.

“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

“Frankie, we are doing great things here that are going to change the world. Mindy put it all in jeopardy just because she believed the propaganda against us. That’s why we must be so careful. All they want is for the entire world to be reliant upon them. The more they supposedly defend us, the more power they have over us. Soon, we will be bowing before them as if they’re gods. We are working to give mankind the tools we need to be free of their tyranny. Nothing is too extreme to protect that, wouldn’t you agree?”

Oh, wow, Frankie thought. So much for Jeannine being an ally.

“Of course,” Frankie replied. “But the end doesn’t always justify the means, right?”

“Oh,” Jeannine blushed, “you must think I’m a fanatic. I’m sorry, I just get carried away sometimes. Oh, here we are. Your team awaits,” she ended with a flourish.

They had stopped outside a door that looked no different than the dozen or so they had passed along the way.

“I suppose this is goodbye for now. I’m sure I will see you off and on in the cafeteria and around, but your team will take care of you from now on.”

Frankie held out her hand, “thank you for everything, Jeannine.”

Instead of shaking her hand, Jeannine enveloped her in a warm hug. “Good luck, Frankie. And welcome to Hydra.”

Good luck indeed. She was going to need it.


	9. Chapter 9

Three Months Later

“Target is in sight,” Dean’s voice said through the earbud in her left ear.

“I see him,” Frankie replied.

From her position across the street, she could see the man that was her first live practice subject. She had spent the last three months learning how to tail, observe, approach, and surveil targets without being detected. This was the first time she was going to test these skills on someone outside of the Hydra compound.

She had spent the last two weeks stalking this low-level government worker, learning where he lived and worked, his friends and family, his routine and quirks. Now she was ready to approach and glean whatever information she could from him through passive listening and observation. The man, Daniel Glover, spent his lunch hour every day in this park, getting his food from a truck and eating at one of the little tables arrayed around this square.

“You’re cleared to approach,” her partner told her through the earbud.

“Roger that.”

Frankie straightened the jacket of her no-nonsense business suit that had been selected for her. With her hair pulled up in a severe bun, glasses perched on her nose, and a worn designer knock-off purse, and scuffed but comfortable heels, she was the picture of a harried office worker escaping her cubical for a quick lunch in the park.

Crossing the street, she approached the food truck, ordered a chicken salad and diet soda, paid, and took the closest open table to Daniel. Sipping her soda and picking at her salad, she opened an app on her phone that looked like a popular social media site but could record audio and snap pictures discreetly. Her training assignment was to record something new about him that she hadn’t been able to discover so far.

Over the next ten minutes, all he did was eat his lunch. He didn’t touch his phone or his briefcase that he always carried. He didn’t read a paper or a magazine. Frankie was beginning to think this exercise was going to be a big fat failure when he pushed his sandwich aside and reached for his briefcase. Thumbing the combination for the lock, he popped it open with a snap. He pulled out what looked like an airline ticket, peered at it intently, then returned it to the case.

Pulling out his phone, he keyed in a number to make a call.

“Harry, can you stop by tonight? I’m going out of town and need you to take care of Mister Grumpy while I’m gone.”

She couldn’t make out what the other man replied, but Daniel nodded happily.

“Good. It’s only for a couple of days. Come by any time after seven. I’ll give you my spare key.”

Another pause for Harry to respond.

“Yeah, it’s the least you can do since you beat me so bad at poker last weekend. Ok, see you then.”

A few more words from Harry and Daniel hung up. Before he could shut his briefcase, Frankie stood and walked by his table to reach a nearby garbage bin, snapping several pictures of the contents as she passed. Then she continued, retracing her steps across the street and back to the rendezvous location.

Dean was waiting for her, grinning.

“Well? How’d it go?”

Frankie blew an errant lock of hair out of her face before answering. “Not bad. He’s going out of the country for a couple of days. Doesn’t look like business.” She pulled up the pictures she took. “Nope, definitely not business. He’s going to Cancun.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“He plays poker with some friends.”

“Excellent. Let’s head back and do a debrief.”

“Can we stop and get some real food on the way back? I need to get the taste of that awful salad out of my mouth and, while the cafeteria food is good, I miss the pizza from Joe’s.”

Dean laughed and slapped her on the shoulder, “you got it. I’ll even buy.”

“Good thing cause I’m broke,” she laughed back.

****

Back at the underground compound she now called home, Frankie was thoroughly debriefed and turned over the phone she used, then returned to her room to change out of her “work” clothes. Stripping in front of the camera had ceased to bother her, after all she had stripped for a living, but the idea of being watched still bothered her immensely. Escaping to the privacy of her bathroom, which she checked at least once a week for any cameras, she sat down on the toilet and sighed heavily.

Over the last months there had been few incidents that seemed off. The people here were just ordinary people, except for Ms. Jones and Rory. She genuinely liked Dean, Jeannine, and a few others that worked and lived in the compound. She didn’t see Rory as often as she liked, but when they did have time together, it was almost like old times. She was well fed, had a safe place to sleep, and had been given a purpose. What more could a person like her ask for?

The entire setup set her nerves on edge though. She wasn’t used to life being so easy; to having things given to her. Though she liked her partner and the others, she sure the hell didn’t trust them. After the fanatical fervor she had glimpsed lurking just under the surface in Jeannine, she couldn’t bring herself to feel out anyone else to find a like-minded ally. This left her alone, which she told herself was for the best. She had enough on her hands trying to figure out how to get Rory disentangled from this mess.

On the other hand, she had thrived on the training she had received. Some of it was old hand to her already, but there were new spins on some of her methods and even new techniques she had never considered. Her assignment had given her a jolt of excitement even though Daniel Glover was just a practice run and none of the intel she had gotten off him of any use. She found that she was looking forward to the next assignment.

That dichotomy was wearing on her: she knew there was something wrong with what was going on at the compound, but she enjoyed the work she was doing.

Reaching around the toilet, she fished two pieces of paper she had taped to the back of the tank. Unfolding them, she looked over them again, trying to glean one more tiny bit of information from them that she may have missed the last twenty or so times she had read over it. They were the two pages that she had stolen from Percy Adams her first day. On them were details about where she lived in Chicago, who she worked for, who she knew, where she ate, the route she took to and from work, and other minute details of her life there. There was an estimate of her weekly income, way too accurate for her comfort. Her side hustles were even listed. Either Hydra or Rory, possibly both, had been staking out her life for weeks and she never noticed.

Why though? Other than her connection to Rory, why was Hydra that interested in her? Why expend so many resources tracking her daily movement? It made no sense. She was a nobody. That was, she had been until she stabbed Clint Barton and came under the scrutiny of the Avenger. Still, that gave her no intrinsic value to Hydra that she could understand.

Sighing again, she folded the papers up and returned them to their hiding place. Standing up, she turned on the shower. It was late and she had an early meeting in the morning.

****

“I hear your first assignment was a success,” Rory smiled down at her as they strolled through the nearly empty hanger bay.

He had knocked on her door the next evening and invited her for a walk. As on all their meetings since that first night, they talked about inconsequential things, mostly reminiscing about their time together in New York, until Rory brought the conversation around to their current situation.

Frankie shrugged, “it was pretty easy. I was almost disappointed in exactly how easy.”

“Really?” Rory’s smile grew bigger. “You didn’t enjoy it at all?”

She shook her head, hiding her smile with her hair, “oh, I enjoyed it. I just wish it had been more…” she let the sentence trail off.

“More what? More of a challenge? More meaningful?”

Frankie gave up hiding her grin, “yes to both. I mean, spying on a boring cubical-dwelling drone and finding out he booked a vacation to Cancun? There’s not much of a challenge or interest there. He’s probably sitting under an umbrella drinking some generic fruity drink with a stupid little umbrella in it, getting burned to a crisp while he watches bikini-clad babes walk by.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

Frankie wacked him in the arm. “Perv.”

Rory pulled her to a stop. “I missed you, Frankie.” He released her arm and ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. “I love what I’m doing here, but having you here with me? It feels like the missing piece of the puzzle just fell into place. You make me feel less alone.”

Frankie blinked back the tears that threatened and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight and resting her cheek against his shoulder. Rory hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Remember when you could do this to me?” His voice rumbled against her cheek and through her skull.

She gave a short laugh, “you were so worried you were never going to start growing; that you were going to be short for the rest of your life.”

“Then, when I did start, all I did was complain.”

“None of your clothes fit for more than a couple of months. I was always at Goodwill trying to find you more jeans and sneakers.”

“And my legs and arms hurt all the time. You used to bring me ice packs and tuck them around me in bed so I could go to sleep.”

Frankie pulled away and grinned up at him, “and they would melt during the night and get everything wet.”

Rory pushed a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear and let his hand linger on the side of her face, “but I was able to sleep, so it was worth it.” His voice dropped, “why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Take me in. Take care of me like I was your family. Why? I was nobody to you.”

She covered his hand with hers and smile ruefully, “I didn’t know why at the time. I just saw a kid that needed someone. I thought I was saving you. Truthfully? You saved me. I was drifting with no real goal, no real future, just surviving from day to day. You gave me a purpose. Because of you, I got a real job and kept it for almost a year. I rented us a place to live. It was a shithole, but it was our shithole.”

She patted his hand and stepped back out of his grasp. “I’m the person I am today as much because of you as you are who you are because of me. We saved each other.”

His eyes glistened as he nodded, “then let’s do it again. I need you here with me. Together, we are more than when we are alone.”

He took a step, “come, let me show you something extraordinary.”

She didn’t move for a breath, taken aback by his sudden change of subject. But the more time she spent with him, the more like her old Rory he seemed. Maybe she could reach him and persuade him of his folly.

“Frankie?” he paused and looked back at her with a small frown. 

She smiled weakly at him, “I’m coming.”

Catching up with him, she allowed him to lead her to the back of the hanger bay and to a door with a security pad mounted on the wall beside it. Rory swiped his badge, typed in an 8-digit code, then leaned down for a retina scan.

“Wow,” she muttered. “That’s some serious security.”

The door’s locking mechanism released with a dull metallic clang.

“There’s something serious behind it,” Rory told her as he pushed it open.

Preceding him through, Frankie stopped suddenly. A short corridor stretched out in front of her, ending in yet another door, along with two security guards in heavy armor with their weapons pointed at her.

Rory came through the door behind her, gently pushing her aside, “it’s ok, she’s with me. Stand down.”

The guards didn’t even blink at his command.

“We need the passcode, Commander,” the one on the left stated in a flat voice.

Rory sighed, “Peach Cobbler.”

Both men lowered their weapons a few inches. “She’s not on the list for entry.”

“She’s with me,” Rory snapped.

“That doesn’t matter, Commander. Nobody gains entry that isn’t on the list. Orders.”

“Look here, you arrogant piece of shit!” Rory yelled and stepped up him, putting his face inches away from the man’s. “I’m the Commander of this facility!” he jabbed the man in the chest with a finger. “I give the orders around here!” Another jab. “You will stand. The. Fuck. Down. Do you hear me?”

The man never flinched and didn’t back away from Rory.

Frankie, worried at the sudden change in her friend, stepped forward and touched him on the arm, “look, Rory, it’s ok. I don’t need to see…”

Rory flung her arm away and turned to face her. His face was so red it was almost purple and was twisted out of shape by his snarl. Frankie stepped back in alarm.

“It’s not ok,” he ground out. “I’m in charge here and I will be obeyed.”

Frankie held up her hands, “yes, you are, but…”

She was cut off by the crackle of static on the radio clipped to the other man’s belt. “Sargent, Ms. Cabrini has been cleared for entry by Ms. Jones.”

“Understood,” he replied, nodding to his companion, who turned and entered a code into the keypad on the wall by the door behind them. 

Both men stood aside for them to pass. As Frankie and Rory passed between them, Rory snarled, “This is not finished.”

Again, neither man responded as the angry commander stormed past them dragging Frankie behind him.

Once the door clanged shut behind them, she pulled against his tight grip on her arm. 

“Rory, you can let go now.”

He ignored her and continued to pull her further into the room. 

“Rory, stop!” she stopped and yanked against his grasp.

Abruptly, he spun around and tightened his grip, “What? Are you going to try to tell me what I can and cannot do now?”

Frankie was alarmed by the anger she saw in his eyes but stood her ground. “No,” she told him calmly, “I’m telling you that you’re hurting me.” 

Rory’s eyes flickered down to his hand wrapped around her arm and he dropped it like it was a snake and took a step back. His eyes, when he raised them to meet hers, were wide with alarm.

“Frankie, I’m sorry! Are you ok?”

She rubbed her forearm and nodded, “yeah, maybe a little bruised, but it will fade. But, Rory, what the hell just happened?”

He hung his head and she felt the urge to hug him again. “Ever since the accident, I just, I don’t know…” his voice trailed off.

“It’s okay, Rory.” She closed the distance between them and took his hand between hers. “It’s me. You can tell me whatever you want. I promise I won’t judge you.”

He smiled that boyish smile she loved so much as he pulled his hand away from hers. “It’s nothing, really. I just let the responsibility get to me sometimes. But, look, this is what I brought you here to show you.”

He turned away and waved his hand at the craft that took up most of the space in the small hanger they were standing in. Frankie stepped around him to get a better look, her eyes wide with wonder.

“What am I looking at?”

“It’s a ship we have designed using a combination of the technology taken from the Chitauri after the battle of New York and from the dark elves after the incident in Greenwich the following year.”

He walked around the craft, stroking the rough grey, segmented exterior as he continued. “The armor plating from the Chitauri can withstand most conventional weapons that we currently possess, and our scientists have designed these ridges and valleys in it to reflect most energy weapons. What it doesn’t reflect is shunted to the fusion core by a highly conductive layer just under the armor.”

He stopped at a ramp extending from an open hatch on the side, “the fusion core we backward engineered from the damaged one taken from the remains of the dark elf ship.”

“I thought that ship was left on another world. At least that’s what the internet sites reported.”

Rory nodded, “yes, but the convergence and the smaller portals caused by it lasted for several days afterwards. Hydra had a team that made it through one long enough to salvage the core.”

Frankie tentatively reached out and touched the armor plating. It was warm and slightly sticky under her hand and pulsed disconcertingly. She snatched her hand away and whipped it on her pants.

He grinned at her disgusted look. “Want to go inside?”

She replied without hesitation, “hell yeah.”


	10. Chapter 10

The inside of the spaceship was not what she expected. Instead of a creepy, alien environment, it was a sleek, utilitarian design with soft grays, matt blacks, and muted silvers. The overall effect was soothing.

“Not what you expected, huh?” Rory asked with a slight smirk, guessing her thoughts.

“Not at all. Who designed this?”

“We hired consultants from an ergonomics engineering firm to design an high-tech office for a fast-paced, stressful environment, then we tweaked their recommendations to suit our needs.”

“Impressive. And unexpected.”

“Why? Because Hydra’s a heartless organization that just sends its valuable personnel into the depths of space in a dark, dreary craft, devoid of comfort? After the last three months, you don’t know us any better than that?” He frowned with disappointment, making her feel shitty for thinking exactly what he described. “People are our most valuable resources. Do you know how hard it is to find people with the right skill sets that haven’t been brainwashed into thinking Hydra is the Big Bad Evil that SHIELD propaganda depicts?”

“No,” she lied, “I expected the inside to look just as alien as the outside. After all, you have to admit, from the outside this thing looks pretty freaky.” She put on an affronted look, daring him to contradict her.

“I’m sorry, you deserve better than that. Come,” he led the way towards the front of the craft, “Let me show you the command center.”

At his apology, Frankie felt even shittier for her lie. She followed him as he led the way.

The control center was like the rest of the interior, just with more lights and knobs. Three swiveling chairs were arrayed around the perimeter of the oval room, each with its own console laid out in front of it. Once again, she was surprised.

“There’s no window.”

“Very astute, as always,” Rory chuckled. “Why would you put a fragile window in the command center of a heavily armored ship? Even with the thickest, most advanced transparent polymer, it would have only a fraction of the strength of the shell that protects the rest of the ship.”

“I never thought about it that way.”

“And having a window only gives so much visibility.” He stepped up to one of the consoles and pushed some of the buttons, “cameras mounted on the hull give you a complete sphere of vision around the craft. And you can zoom in and out as needed.”

Frankie stepped up beside him and looked at the screen. He flicked through several cameras that showed various views of the hanger around them. One of them briefly showed what looked like a stack of missiles before the image changed.

“What do you plan to do with this thing?” she asked as he showed her various other functions at the fingertips of the person that would be sitting in this position.

Rory straightened up from the station, “SHIELD has already made contact with several alien groups and governments and you can believe they are not painting a good picture of Hydra, as expected. We need to get out there and meet these civilizations on our own terms. We need to make our own allies and not let SHEILD and the Avengers control the intergalactic destiny of earth and the human race.”

“And those missiles are going to help you make allies?”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” he chuckled and shook his head slightly. “We are allowed to defend ourselves, aren’t we? There is no way of knowing who or what we’ll encounter, and I’m not going to send my people out there defenseless.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.” She decided to change the subject, “how are you going to choose who goes?”

“We are doing the final screening of our top candidates right now. They have been training on simulators for months and are going through rigorous physical and mental testing to determine their suitability. Why? Are you interested?”

“Why not? Earth has treated my pretty shitty all these years. Maybe space will be better,” she laughed, making it a joke. “Are they here training? Do I know any of these potential spacemen?”

Rory waved his hand dismissively, “yes, and other locations. But they’re in a different section, in isolation, so they can concentrate on their training.”

A different section? And here she thought she had seen all of the facility. Interesting.

Rory stepped close to her unexpectedly, bringing his hand up to stroke her cheek with a finger.

“And you wouldn’t be a good candidate for space travel. You’re too much of a social creature. You’d go nuts locked up with just two other people for months on end,” he murmured looking down into her eyes.

Frankie’s heart began to race in panic as he started to lower his head to kiss her. This was definitely NOT what she had expected. She loved Rory with all of her heart, but not in this way. To her, he was still the innocent boy she had rescued. This felt all wrong, like being kissed by your brother.

She put her hand on his chest, intending to push him away, when someone cleared their throat behind them.

“I’m apologize for the interruption Commander, but you are urgently needed.” A different guard than the two they had encountered earlier stood in the entrance of the control center, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Rory spun abruptly, dropping his hand from her face, “of course. Let them know I’m on my way.”

He turned back to Frankie with a slight smile, “I’m sorry, but I have to cut short the tour. Maybe some other day?”

She nodded, still reeling from what almost had happened, “yeah, another day.”

She followed him and the retreating guard out of the spaceship and to the heavily guarded door. Once back out in the large hanger, Rory hurried off and left her to find her own way back. Making her way back to her room, she replayed what almost happened again and again in her mind. Since when did Rory feel that way towards her? They had just reunited and had barely spent any time together since then. Had he felt that way before the accident? Had she given him any reason to think she felt the same? Her thoughts chased each other around and around.

Trying to take her mind off the subject, she mulled over what she had learned instead. There was a lot more at stake here that just Rory. Even she knew the ramifications of Hydra making allies in space were not good. She had to do something, but what? She wasn’t a hero or even a good Samaritan, what could she do? She could do what she was best at: gathering information. Learn all she could then, once she got Rory out, she could turn that information over to…. Who? Who could she trust? Certainly not the bloody Avengers. Maybe the feds. Yeah, that was it. Turn it over to the feds and let them decide who to trust.

Lying in bed with the lights off, she made a mental list. In addition to finding out who pulled the strings here, she needed to find out who the potential astronauts where and where they were being housed and trained. She was going to have to start cultivating contacts in the facility. She had been there long enough that she was fairly well-known and trusted. After all, Rory himself vouched for her. She was going to start using her skills and she knew just the two people to start with.

****

The next day, she was informed by Jacob that her first real assignment had been determined and she would be briefed that afternoon on the details. Both excited and worried, she toyed with her lunch while the rest of her team talked around her. At 12:35 sharp, Andi, Ms. Jones’ assistant walked in, got a salad, and sat at a table by herself.

“Hey, Josh,” Frankie asked the man next to her quietly, “what’s the deal with her?” she indicated Andi with a nod. “I’ve noticed she never eats with anyone.”

Josh, a data analyst, followed her nod and grimaced, “that’s Andi York, Ms. Jones’ assistant. She eats alone because everyone is intimidated by her boss.”

“So, it’s not just me she hates?” Frankie asked with a smile.

He shook his head, “no, she hates everyone.” He shuddered, “I’m glad she’s not our boss anymore.”

Frankie was surprised. “Really? I didn’t know.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, “she was a CIA spook, but got canned for some reason. Pretty scary, huh? Doing something so shady that not even the CIA wanted anything to do with you? Anyway, she was the head of intelligence when I first got here but was promoted to security shortly afterwards. Thank God, because she was awful to work for.”

“Who?” Dean asked from across the table, having just caught that last bit.

“Ms. Jones.”

At the mention of the name, the entire table stilled.

“You need to be careful who you talk about, Josh,” another person further down the table cautioned.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the talk at the table returned to normal. Frankie leaned towards Josh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble or anything.”

“It’s ok. But Bill’s right. Be careful who you talk about. Things have a way of getting back to Her.”

“I’ll remember that. But it’s not right that Andi has to eat alone every day just because everyone’s afraid of her boss.”

With that, Frankie pushed back from the table, picked up her tray, and made her way over to the lone woman. The table fell silent behind her.

“Hey,” she said, standing across the table from Andi, “may I join you?”

Andi looked up quizzically from her salad, “excuse me?”

Frankie smiled at her confusion, “may I join you?”

Andi looked at her, then at the quiet table she had left with a frown. “Did they put you up to this? You know, a prank on the new girl?”

Frankie plopped her tray down and took the seat opposite the woman, “no. I just think it’s bullshit to make someone a pariah just because their boss is scary.”

Andi smiled weakly, “well if you’re not afraid I’ll feed you to her, then by all means, join me.”

Frankie smiled back, “ok, but be warned, if you do try to feed me to her, I’ve been told I’m a tough cookie.”

Andi laughed.

****

Andi York was actually a very lively companion. Her quirky sense of humor kept Frankie giggling during most of their lunch. She had never married, but her two brothers had large families and she kept in contact with them despite working and living in such a secure facility. She had a lot of stories about growing up with them and the exploits of their children.

At 1:00 the members of her team departed the cafeteria. Dean came over to her and Andi on his way out.

“Don’t forget, we have that briefing at 2:00.”

“Oh, I won’t forget, but thanks. I’ll be finished in a few minutes and join you.”

He nodded at Andi on his way out. She sighed when he left the room.

“How can you even focus on your job with such a hottie as a partner?”

“You think Dean is hot?” 

“You don’t?”

She had never thought of him as hot but saw how his dazzling smile and bright blue eyes combined with his blonde hair and strong jawline could be considered good looking.

She shrugged, “I guess, but he’s not my type.”

“What’s your type?” Andi leaned forward with a grin.

Frankie didn’t really have a type, so she adlibbed, “I like them more serious, I guess. Not too tall, that just makes certain activities more awkward, if you know what I mean.”

Andi giggled at her insinuations, “you better not tell the Commander he’s not your type. He might take offense.”

“What?”

“Well, surely the two of you are, you know…,” she let the sentence tail off.

Frankie’s face flushed, “is that what everyone thinks? That I’m screwing Rory?”

Andi leaned back, “no. I mean…,” she stumbled. “Well, yeah, actually. Some do.”

Frankie drew a breath and exhaled slowly, calming herself down. It wouldn’t do her any favors to lose her shit here in the middle of the cafeteria. She shook her head slowly.

“I supposed that’s to be expected. We do have a history and he did bring me in.” She looked up and met Andi’s eyes. Sometimes the truth is perfect for the situation. “But I raised him. He was just a boy when I found him. He’s like a little brother to me, that’s all.”

Andi nodded, “I understand. But I don’t think he feels the same way about you. I’ve seen him looking at you a couple of times and believe me, he isn’t thinking brotherly thoughts.”

Frankie blushed, “I don’t know why, I haven’t given him any indication I feel the same or any encouragement. But I know what you mean. Yesterday, in the spacesh…,” she let the sentence trail off, dangling the bait. “Oops, sorry. I’m probably not supposed to say anything about that.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” the other woman waved off her apology. “I already know about that. Glenda was livid.” She lowered her voice, “I could hear her yelling at him through her office door.”

“Really?” Frankie appeared confused. “I thought he was in charge of everything?”

“Yes, of course he is.” Andi hurriedly looked at her watch and stood up quickly, “I’m sorry, Frankie. This has been the most enjoyable lunch I’ve had in a long time, but it’s time for me to get back to work.” She paused before picking up her tray. “Thank you.”

Frankie smiled, “you’re welcome. See you tomorrow?”

The other woman smiled shyly, “maybe.”

A good start, Frankie thought as she gathered up the remains of her lunch to leave. One down. One more to go.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey, Baby, blow me for luck,” the heavyset man in an expensive, but tacky suit held out his hand palm up.

Frankie smiled seductively and leaned forward to cup his hand with hers and blow softly on the red dice. As she leaned over, he reached behind her with his other hand and stroked her ass. Instead of swatting his hand away and slugging him, which she desperately wanted to do, she stood up slowly and gave him another smile and a look from beneath her eyelashes.

“Easy, there, you need to save some of that for later,” she purred.

He licked his thick lips and patted her ass one last time before turning his attention back to the table, “later, Baby. Oh, yeah, we’ll continue this later.”

Frankie stifled a shudder and swayed her way to the next table to deliver more cocktails to the men gathered around it.

They had certainly picked something right up her alley for this assignment, she thought as she smiled and flirted with the patrons of this private, and quite illegal, gambling den. At least she had clothes on, she thought with a smirk. Although some might not consider her attire ‘clothed’. The black G-string with its fluffy bunny tail, skimpy bikini top, five-inch heels, fishnet stockings with garters, and a headband with the cliché pair of bunny ears wasn’t the most revealing outfit she had ever worn, but being a stripper, that bar was set pretty low already.

Her target was the fat man with the wandering hands. Ricardo DeHerrera, the manager of a security firm contracted by NASA and the US government for the new Space Force Command located in Colorado Springs, had a proclivity for high stakes gambling. She and Dean had flown into Denver three days ago, surveilled the location, and hired three of would-be models for a side job waitressing for the night.

Dean, dressed in an immaculate black suit, stood near the door overseeing all the activity. His job was security, along with two other men he had hired. He got to keep all his clothes on, she thought resentfully. She made eye contact with him and nodded faintly. He didn’t acknowledge her except for a brief flicker of his eyes to his left to the door leading to the private rooms.

The men at the second table were not as free with their hands as her target. They were intent on their cards, only making conversation between hands. The dealer was shuffling the deck as she handed out drinks and collected her tips.

“Too bad about Dan,” one of the men commented as he handed her a five.

“Yeah, but if you have to go out, Cancun would be the place to do it,” another put in.

“Whatever convinced him to go hiking by himself, though? I hear his body was pretty messed up by animals by the time he was found.”

The other three men at the table grimaced.

“I hear it left you guys in quite a lurch, setting you back several months,” the first man said to the second.

He nodded, “yeah, apparently, he kept most of his ‘notes’ up here.” He tapped the side of his head.

Cursing erupted from the other table. While Ricardo was busy groping her, she switched the dice, giving him a loaded pair. Shit, she expected it to take longer before he got frustrated. Something about the conversation at this table was tickling something at the back of her mind.

“And finding a replacement for him is going to take a while. We are at a standstill right now and it sucks. We were just starting to make real progress,” he shook his head then smiled. “At least something good came out of it. My daughter has been bugging me for a pet, so we took in his cat. My daughter loves the damn thing. Plays dress up with it all the time. She even likes the stupid name Dan gave it: Mister Grumpy.”

Holy shit! Frankie thought, shaken. They’re talking about her so-called practice target, Daniel Glover. What the fuck?

Another curse and a thud drew her attention back to her current assignment. Swallowing, she forced a smile and sauntered to the bar to pick up her next round of drinks to deliver.

By the time she arrived back at the table, the pile of chips in front of him was just a fraction of what it had been, and his face was flushed an angry red.

“Your drink,” she rubbed against him as she leaned over to pass him his drink. He looked up at her, then back at his pile.

“You know,” he said as he spun his chair and trapped her between his knees. “I think I’m ready for that ‘later’ now,” he growled as he ran his sweaty hands up and down her sides, grazing the sides of her breasts.

“Well, cash out and follow me,” she grabbed one of his hands before he could actually grope her breast and brought it to her lips. “I’ll make you forget all about all this.”

“Now that is something I can really get into,” he didn’t bother to look up from her breasts on prominent display in front of him.

Cashing out only took him a few minutes, then Frankie was leading him through the door to the back rooms.

“This way Mr. DeHerrera. I’m going to take good care of you.”

“Call me Ricky, Sweetheart.”

“Ricky it is,” she purred looking over her shoulder at him.

The room she chose was the tackiest one in the building, but after taking in his suit, she decided he would approve of it. Red shag carpet covered the floor, matching pretty much everything else in the room, it looked like someone took every porn movie ever made and compiled them to create this room.

As expected, Ricky nodded appreciatively at the décor, before removing his jacket.

“Let me make you a drink while you get comfortable,” Frankie went to the bar and started plunking ice cubes into a glass.

“Yes,” he slurred slightly, “another drink. Not too much, you hear. I don’t want to have it impact my performance, if you know what I mean.”

“A big man like you shouldn’t have a problem with a little drink,” she told him as she brought the drink over to him. She had slipped a mild sedative into his last drink and this one was spiked with a larger dose.

“Here, let me,” she said as he took a long drink from the glass. Dropping to the floor to kneel at his feet, a position she knew would appeal to him. 

“Oh, yeah,” he slurred a bit more and even swayed as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He reached a meaty hand out and grabbed the back of her head in a tight grip, pulling her hair painfully. “We are going to have a lot of fun, Baby.”

Oh great, one of those assholes. She had dealt with them a lot when she was on the streets. They got off on hurting women. She hid her smile. Well, he was in for one helluva surprise if he thought he was going to use this woman as a chew toy.

The empty glass thudded to the floor beside her and he swayed alarmingly, almost falling over on top of her.

“Why don’t we take this to the bed, so you can relax?” 

“Yeah, good idea. I drank that one a bit fast.”

“Let me up, please,” she looked up at him with her most submissive expression.

His grip on her hair tightened briefly before he released her, and she stood up. She took his hand and led him to the oversized, round bed. He flopped down on his back, his pants and underwear around his knees, his shirt, shoes, and socks still on.

“Come here,” he slurred, lifting a floppy hand to beckon her.

Frankie dropped to her hands and knees and climbed onto the bed, crawling seductively up his body. Damn, she hoped the sedative did its job before she was forced to do something she vowed she would never do again.

By the time she straddled his hips, she could hear a slight snore. Sitting up, she saw that his eyes were closed and his mouth open with a bit of drool starting to dribble out of the corner.

“Sweetie?” Frankie had to make sure he was truly out.

Nothing.

“Sweetie?” She tried again, wiggling her hips, shaking his body and the whole bed in the process. 

Still nothing.

“Hey!” she leaned forward and slapped his cheek.

His snores didn’t falter. He was out cold.

Frankie scrambled off him and searched his pockets quickly. Pulling out his wallet, she shuffled through it. No key card. Fuck! This was going to suck if he didn’t have it on him.

She tucked the wallet back into his trousers and climbed off the bed. She walked over to his jacket that he had dropped on the floor by the door. As she bent over to pick it up, there was a light tap on the door.

“It’s me,” Dean said quietly from the other side.

She let him in.

“Did you find it?”

She was going through the jacket and didn’t look up at her partner. “No, he didn’t have it in his wallet. I hope he didn’t…,” she trailed off as she felt a card in a concealed pocket. Fishing it out, she held it up triumphantly, “got it.”

She handed it over to Dean, who pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket.

“Must be nice to have pockets,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.

He looked up briefly and giving her the once over, “I don’t think there’s enough material on that for a pocket.” 

Frankie crossed her arms over her exposed chest, “don’t you have something for me, Asshole?”

Dean grinned and pulled a small case out of another pocket. Inside was a vacuum sealed dress for Frankie. It was skimpy by necessity but compared to what she had on at the moment, at least it covered all the important parts. As she tore open the package, he turned his attention back to his task. Inserting the keycard in the box, a yellow LED lit up and started blinking, indicating the data on the card was being copied.

“How long is that going to take?”

“Less time than for you to get dressed,” he told her dryly. “Don’t forget the tail and ears.”

“How could I?” she said as she snatched the offending items from her body.

As she slipped the dress over her head, she heard him say, “done.”

Smoothing the dress down with one hand, she held out the other for the card so she could tuck it back into his jacket. Going back to the bar, she poured a bit of scotch into one of the glasses and tossed it back, then went over to the passed out Ricky and touched the glass to his lips, making sure to catch some of the spittle running down his face on it. She picked up the dropped glass and handed it to Dean.

“Can’t leave this here to be tested.” She dropped the new glass on the floor to replace it.

“Anything else?” Dean asked.

Frankie surveyed the room quickly, “I don’t think so. You’re an old hand at this, what do you think?”

“You need to make it look like your boy had a really good time.”

She looked at the man on the bed and took a deep breath, “I was afraid you would say that. Okay, go back out front and I will take care of it.”

He nodded, “see you out back in about an hour.”

After Dean left the room, Frankie walked over to the bed, “okay, Ricky, let’s make sure this was a night you wish you could remember.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was late when Frankie got back to her room. The debrief for the operation was thorough, both Dean and Jacob were amused by how she staged DeHerrera. After the debrief, she asked Jacob if she could have a word with him.

“What’s up, Frankie?” he asked after Dean left.

She had considered what she would do with the conversation she overheard about Daniel Glover. She couldn’t look up any information on her laptop or tablet; she knew these were monitored and her search wouldn’t go unnoticed. So, she decided the best approach was the direct one.

“During the op, I overheard a conversation between some of the guys about my last target.”

Jacob cocked his head to the side, “what did you hear?”

She leaned back on the conference table, and picked at her nails, looking at him from the corner of her eyes, “that he wasn’t some nameless low-level government worker and that he died while on his vacation.”

Her boss walked around the table and leaned on it next to her. “No, he wasn’t. He was the lead researcher on the Space Force’s alien technology division. Glover was working with SHIELD on the integration of alien technology and ours.”

“So, my training exercise was actually a real intel operation,” she stated flatly.

“Yeah, we had the opportunity and we took it. You were in the right place at the right time. We don’t like to waste resources.”

“So why kill him? Wasn’t he worth more alive to us than dead?”

Jacob shrugged, “I didn’t make that call, but I support it. Getting someone to do meaningful work under duress hardly ever works out. Killing him accomplished two objectives. First, we slowed down SHIELD’s progress on building their own spaceship. Second, we have a candidate posed to replace him, so we will have someone in Hydra highly placed in the program.”

Frankie was surprised by his honesty, but she was also wary; something wasn’t quite right here. Jacob wasn’t surprised that she had found out about Daniel.

“I didn’t overhear that conversation by accident. I was meant to hear it, wasn’t I?”

This time she could read the surprise in Jacob’s body language.

“It was a test,” she turned towards him, planning her hands on her hips. “To see what I would do with the information. You don’t trust me.”

“Look at it from our point, Frankie. We just uncovered a mole from SHIELD in this very department. Then you show up. With the right skill set to take her place. And you have been quite obviously involved in actions against an Avenger. It was like you were served up to us on a silver platter. Just too good to be true. We had to know.”

“Was any of it even real? Either of the assignments?”

Jacob’s body language gave her the answer before he even opened his mouth, “no.”

Before he could say anything more, she spun and stalked out of the room, ignoring his calls for her to stop and turn around. She didn’t stop until she entered her room and slammed the door behind her. In her rage, she dragged one of the chairs at the table over to the door and climbed on it to reach the smoke detector. Pulling it free from its holder, she pried open the back, found the hidden camera and ripped it free.

Holding it up to her face, she spat, “Fuck you!” then pulled its wires out and, jumping off the chair, crushed it on the floor under her heal.

****

An hour later, she sat exhausted on her bed, her room in shambles around her. She had found one other hidden camera. More disturbing, she had found a microphone in her bathroom. She didn’t find a camera in there, but still…

She just about jumped out of her skin when a light knock came at her door. Flinging the door open, she expected Jacob or Rory and was prepared to give them a piece of her mind.

Glenda stood in the doorway instead, taking the wind out of her sails. She just stood there silently for a moment, unsure how to proceed.

“I would ask if I could come in, but I don’t think there’s anywhere left to sit,” she said dryly. “Why don’t we go to my office so we can talk?”

“Sure,” Frankie’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “why not?”

Glenda didn’t bat a single perfectly made up eye. She just turned on her heals and led the way to her office. Frankie followed silently, not even bothering to shut the door behind her. Fuck it. She never had any privacy anyway; let them go through the rubble of her room.

****

In her office, Glenda indicated a small sitting area to one side of her office. Taking one of the two chairs, she waited for Frankie to sit.

“You’re upset,” she stated once Frankie slumped into her chair.

“Observant.”

“No need to be an asshole, Frankie. Why don’t you act like an adult?” Glenda said in a calm voice.

Before Frankie could answer, the door opened admitting Andi carrying a tray.

“Thank you, Andi. Just put it here,” Glenda smiled and tapped the table between her and Frankie.

When Andi set the tray down, Frankie leaned forward and grabbed her wrist to stop her from retreating, “did you know? Were our lunches set up to trap me?”

Andi didn’t meet her eyes, “yes,” she said quietly. “But I really did enjoy your company,” she said quickly.

Frankie released her arm and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. She was so angry; she was close to tears. When she felt like she could continue without bursting into tear or choking someone to death, Frankie opened her eyes. The head of security was sitting comfortably in her chair, watching her quietly.

“Are you ready to listen?”

She nodded.

Glenda leaned forward and started making a cup of tea, “would you like one?”

“It’s after midnight.”

“It’s never a bad time for tea. Besides, its chamomile. Soothing. No caffeine.”

Frankie snorted, “soothing. Yeah, I could use a lot of that. Make me a bucket full.”

When Glenda handed her the tea, in a cup, not a bucket, she blew on it and took a sip. It was soothing and warm.

“This isn’t drugged, is it?” she looked up at the other woman before taking another sip.

“If it was, now is a little late to ask.”

“True,” a pause. “Go on then, say your piece.”

“Hydra,” Glenda began, “is an ancient organization. It has roots that reach back hundreds of years. It has survived tyrants, wars, the inquisition, the communist purge in both Russia and China, and it survived WWII. It didn’t last this long eagerly trusting everyone and everything. Nobody is allowed into our sphere without being thoroughly vetted. Most of our members work autonomously, without ever knowing the big picture. They are just given individual tasks to carry out.”

“This is especially important now that the public knows we exist, and we are in open conflict with SHIELD. Everyone is a possible threat to our survival and must be treated as such.”

She paused and took a sip of her own tea. “What we did to you was not unique. It has been done before. To your partner, Dean. To Jacob. To me and, yes, even to Rory. And each of us were equally outraged, just as you are now. You are not special. You have not been singled out. You are being vetted, plain and simple.”

"What happens if I fail?”

The last thing that will go through your mind will be a bullet,” she said deadpan. “Let me be perfectly clear about this. This is not a game. We are not in this for shits and giggles. This is life and death to us. Those that make it through are the ones that are unequivocally devoted to the core purpose of Hydra.”

“And what is that purpose?”

Setting her cup back on the tray, Glenda leaded back and met her eyes, “global domination.”

“To what end?”

“The human race is a mess. Look how fragmented it is. We fight about differences in the color of our skin, religion, culture, regions, resources, and wealth. Even when two groups are virtually identical, they will find a reason to hate each other. In the meantime,   
we are destroying the very planet on which our survival depends. In a nutshell, as a whole, the human race is stupid. It needs a force to pull it together before it’s too late. Now that we have joined the galactic community, it is even more important for us to be unified, united, before some alien race decides it wants this planet to itself. You know this is a real threat, Frankie. It has already happened twice in one decade.”

“And the Avengers stopped it,” Frankie pointed out.

Glenda nodded in agreement, “yes, they did. But what about next time? Iron man is dead. Captain America gone. They were the glue that held the Avengers together. But an even better question is: why does the human population have to rely on this group where some of the individuals aren’t even human? Why can’t humankind defend themselves?”

“Because we can’t compete with what alien races that are more advanced than we are?”

“Again, why is that? Why can’t we compete?” When Frankie didn’t answer, she continued. “Because we are too busy trying to kill each other. We are letting our petty quarrels keep us divided. Imagine what we could achieve as one united planet. Imagine the resources that could be directed at improving our technology? All the most brilliant minds, whether they are American, Russian, Chinese, Indian, African, it wouldn’t matter. They would be united working together for the betterment of not just a single country, race, or religion; but for the planet.”

“And Hydra is the organization to unite them?”

“That’s the plan.”

Taking another drink from her rapidly cooling cup, Frankie met Glenda’s eyes, “so, what now?”

The smile on Glenda’s face sent a shiver down her back.

“Now, we find out what side you are truly on.”


	13. Chapter 13

She was hungry and needed to pee, but Momma had told her to stay in her room until she was told she could come out. That had been a long, long time ago. But Momma’s new boyfriend didn’t like children, so she had to stay hidden when he was around, which was a lot.

Her bladder spasmed, hurting. Surely Momma didn’t mean for her to pee on the floor like the dog they had for a couple of weeks before Momma’s boyfriend “took care of it.”

Going to the door, she turned the knob. She was big enough to reach it without having to stand on her tippy toes. Pushing the door open she peered out. She could hear Momma and Uncle Bobby, as she had been told to call him, on the couch making funny noises, but she couldn’t see them. The bathroom was on the other side of the living room, so she would have to go right by them.

Tip toeing out of the room, she crept quietly across the living room. When the couch came into view, she looked over. Uncle Bobby was on top of Momma. He was hurting her from the sounds she was making. She stopped and started crying.

Momma looked over at the sound, “oh, shit, Bobby, stop.”

“What the hell?” Bobby sputtered, then looked over at her. “God damnit! I told you to keep that brat out of my sight.” He sat up. “Get the hell back in your room!” he told her nastily.

That’s when it happened. She lost control of her bladder. Urine ran down her legs, puddling on the floor.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! She’s pissing on the floor! That’s it. I’m out of here.” He got up to leave, pulling his pants up and stalked to the door. She was glad he was leaving. She didn’t like him.

Momma stood and followed him, “Bobby, I’ll take care of it. Don’t go.”

Momma stopped and looked down at her, “why can’t you be good and do what I tell you?”

After Momma ran out the door after Uncle Bobby, she stood in the puddle of her own pee and cried.

****

“What are you saying?” Mark looked at her in shock.

“I’m saying I missed by period. I’m pregnant,” she told him.

“Oh, Fuck, Frankie,” Mark turned away from her, running his hands through his hair. Turning back to her, he asked, “are you sure it’s mine?”

She nearly choked at the question, “are you serious? You’re my boyfriend, the only person I’ve ever been with that way.”

“Right,” he said skeptically.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked.

“You’re a street kid. You’re probably banging anyone that offers you a sandwich.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“That kid could be anyone’s. You just picked me because I have a good job.”

“That’s not true! I love you, Mark!” She tried to hug him, but he pushed her away roughly.

“Get out of here, you skanky slut,” he snarled. “I can’t believe I ever put my dick in you. I’m surprised you didn’t give me some disease.”

He shoved her out the back door of the restaurant where he worked as a bus boy. “Don’t come back here again or I’ll call the cops on you.”

“Mark? I thought you loved me?” she pleaded.

“Loved you? Who the hell could love you? You disgust me.”

He slammed the door in her face.

****  
“No!!!” she screamed as the nun drug her by the arm through the hall to Mother Superior’s office. She fought like a wildcat but couldn’t make the woman release her. She knew it was futile to try to reason with the nun, telling her she took the roll to give to Margaretta, who missed lunch because she was being punished. They saw things in black and white with no tolerance for gray. Even at ten, she realized that fact.

The nun didn’t release her until she dumped her on the floor in front of Mother Superior’s desk.

“What did she do now?” the older woman asked wearily.

“She’s been stealing food again and hiding it under her bed.”

There was the soft scratch of wool against wool as Mother Superior rose and came around the desk to stand over her.

“Is this true, Francesca?”

“Yes, Mother Superior,” she nodded obediently. There was no sense in denying it.

Mother Superior sighed, “we’ve been through this before. You eat what you are given during meals and that’s it. It is sinful to steal. Think about the poor children whose food you stole.”

She knew that no children went hungry because of what she took. She only took what was left over on one of the carts and all the girls knew that the excess went to the nuns for them to eat. That was in addition to the meals they ate in the great hall with the girls.

“Why are you so willfully bad, Child? We take care of you. Clothe you. Feed you. Give you a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in. Why do you insist on repaying the kindness we show with this disobedience?”

Everything she said was true but the clothes they were given were donated, most thin and worn. The food was bland and just enough to ward off hunger, but never filling. The roof in their dorm leaked and they had to wake up at various hours during stormy  
nights to empty the buckets. Their beds were old army cots with thin, scratchy wool blankets. In short, the nuns did the bare minimum to provide for the girls in their care.

When she didn’t answer, Mother Superior sighed again. “Child, you leave me with no choice. Sister Beatrice, give her ten lashes with the belt and the rest of the day and night in confinement. No supper either.”

“No!” she cried, more for the confinement than the lashes. Confinement was a dark, dank closet in the lower basement, with spiders, insects, and occasional rats. All the girls were deathly afraid of it.

“No!” she screamed as Sister Beatrice drug her out of the office and towards the stairs.

****

She was standing in front of Mother Superior’s desk again, head down. Cecilia was standing beside her telling the old nun how Frankie had forced her to commit sinful acts of fornication. She couldn’t believe her friend was telling them it was her fault. Tears gathered in her eyes.

“What have you got to say for yourself, Francesca?” Mother Superior demanded when Cecilia finished.

She just shook her head. She knew better. Mother Superior had taken a dislike to her years ago and was convinced she was a bad seed.

“Thank you, Cecilia, for telling the truth. Sister Agatha, no supper for Cecilia. Put her on bathroom detail for the next week.”

She was shocked. That was such a light punishment. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

After the nun left with Cecilia, Mother Superior tutted, “what am I going to do with you, girl? You just have the Devil in you, pure and simple. We’ve tried beating it out. We’ve tried starving it out. We’ve tried everything we know to do, but to no avail. You are intent on doing evil.”

“I want to be good, Mother Superior,” she whispered.

“I don’t believe you,” the old woman told her. “If you wanted to be good, you wouldn’t be doing all these bad things.”

There was a hiss of wood sliding against wood.

“Hold out those filthy hands of yours, palms up,” she was ordered.

She dutifully held out her hands. No lashes? Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The first blow of the ruler against her palms stung but was bearable. As the blows continued though, she learned that things can always get worse.

Later that night, her swollen hands wrapped in bandages and throbbing relentlessly, she curled into a ball in the dark closet and listened to the scraping and scrambling of the denizens of the basement.

"I want to be good. I want to be good.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I’m not bad. I’m not bad.”

“How long has she been like this?” a woman’s cool voice asked. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t get her mind to focus properly on it. With her eye’s covered, she couldn’t see her.

“For a few hours now,” a man answered. She knew his voice. He had been tormenting her for…what? Days? Weeks? Months? She wasn’t sure how long.

“No, no, please…,” she pleaded.

“She was a tough cookie,” he continued, ignoring her. “Very strong willed, resisted suggestion for longer than anticipated. But we finally found the right combination. We can twist any of her memories to follow our narrative, even insert new ones,” she could hear the pride in his voice.

“And her motives?” the woman asked.

“The Commander is her only motive. She just wants to save him. That’s all.”

“How disgustingly sweet,” she replied.

“Good work,” a different man praised, she didn’t recognize his voice. “She’ll be an excellent asset. It would be a shame to lose her.”

“Give me a few more days, and she’ll be ready. Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.” 

“Very well. Keep us informed.”

As their steps faded into the distance, her tormentor came over to her side. He was close enough; she could feel his breath on the side of her face not covered.

“Well, Frankie, shall we continue?”

“No…,” she whimpered.

****

“Frankie,” Rory’s urgent voice penetrated the haze in her head. “Frankie, wake up.”

Opening her eyes, at some point the hood had been removed, she met Rory’s worried ones.

“Rory,” she whispered, “you came for me.”

He gave her that boyish smile she loved. “Of course. I would never leave you.”

There was a rattle of chains as he unlocked the cuffs holding her to the wall. Her legs refused to hold her weight and she crumpled, sliding down the wall.

“I got you,” Rory caught her and held her up. She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart through his shirt.

“Come on, we got to go before he comes back.” Supporting her weight, he led her towards the door.

“Wait,” she stopped him. “How’d you get in here?” Nobody but the man torturing her had been in the room, except… she wasn’t sure. Had there been others? Maybe. Her mind was still too hazy to organize her thoughts effectively.

“I’m the commander, Frankie,” Rory assured her. “They couldn’t keep me away from you.”

She pushed him away slightly, “it’s been weeks. Why’d it take you so long to come for me?”

“No, it’s only been a couple of hours, Frankie. I came as soon as I realized what was going on.”

Just two hours? Her brow furrowed. “No, you’re mistaken. I’ve been here a lot longer.”

“I know it seems like it from your point of reference, but believe me, it’s only been just over two hours since they brought you here. Jacob came to me after your conversation with him and told me everything. I went to your room and found the door open and the interior wrecked. I thought the worst had happened. I immediately started searching for you and didn’t quit until I found you here.”

The concern in his eyes was genuine.

“Now, let’s go before he comes back.”

Frankie let him lead her from the room and down the hall. Through the maze of corridors and stairs they went, only stopping to hide when they heard voices approaching. Soon they were at the elevator that led to the exit above ground. Rory keyed in his access code and pressed the button. Frankie leaned against him as they waited.

“Thank you, Rory.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze, “you know I would never leave you.”

The elevator chimed as it reached their level and the doors slid open, revealing Glenda and two security guards; their weapons raised and pointed at Frankie and Rory.

“I would have never thought you’d be this stupid, Commander,” the woman addressed Rory calmly.

“What you’re doing it wrong, Glenda,” he responded. “I won’t let you hurt her anymore.”

“Well, then, I guess we’ll get rid of two traitors at the same time.”

She fired her gun. Two shots in quick succession. Point blank into Rory’s chest. The impact drove him backwards before he fell to the ground.

“No!” Frankie screamed and ran to his side, dropping to her knees on the cold floor. He was still breathing, but it was labored, and blood dripped from his lips. Blood spread from the holes in his chest at an alarming rate. Frankie pressed her hands over the wounds to staunch the bleeding, but her efforts were futile. It was like trying to stop the flow of water in a river with a single stone. The stone would stop the water, but the water always found a way around the stone and continued unabated.

“Oh, Rory,” she cried.

Her friend looked up at her, the pain on his face breaking her heart. “You failed, Frankie,” he told her.

“What?”

“You promised to save me from them, but you failed. Just like you failed to save me back in New York. You just left me to die alone. Just like you failed to save your mother and father.”

“No, that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is, and you know it deep down inside. You fail everyone you love, Frankie.”

His eyes grew dim and the light in them went out as his breathing stopped.

“No! Rory! No…” she cried, bent over his lifeless body.

“Well, isn’t this pathetic?” a dry voice asked behind her.

Frankie sat up and looked over her shoulder at Glenda, standing with her gun aimed at Frankie’s head.

“You are such a pathetic failure, Frankie. I’m glad you’re not on our side,” she said as she pulled the trigger.

Frankie’s world went dark.

****

“Frankie,” Rory’s urgent voice penetrated the haze in her head. “Frankie, wake up.”

Opening her eyes, at some point the hood had been removed, she met Rory’s worried ones.

“Rory,” she whispered, “you came for me.”

He gave her that boyish smile she loved. “Of course. I would never leave you.”

There was a rattle of chains as he unlocked the cuffs holding her to the wall. Her legs refused to hold her weight and she crumpled, sliding down the wall.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said as he caught her.

“Well, well, well,” Glenda said from the door of the room. “What do we have here?”

“Get out of my way, Glenda,” he ordered the woman. “I’m not going to let you continue to torture her.”

“I don’t think so,” Glenda said as she raised her gun and fired it.

Rory pushed Frankie away as the bullets meant for her tore through him. Crawling over to his bleeding body, she tried to stop the flow of blood, but it still pooled on the floor around her like a black lake.

“You failed me, Frankie,” Rory whispered. “Fail….everyone…you love.”

“No, no, no, no,” she moaned, cradling his limp head in her lap.

“Such a shame,” Glenda tutted as she raised her gun.

****

“Frankie,” Rory’s urgent voice penetrated the haze in her head. “Frankie, wake up.”

Opening her eyes, at some point the hood had been removed, she met Rory’s worried ones.

“Rory,” she whispered, “you came for me.”

He gave her that boyish smile she loved. “Of course. I would never leave you.”

There was a rattle of chains as he unlocked the cuffs holding her to the wall. Her legs refused to hold her weight and she crumpled, sliding down the wall.

This time, they made it to the exit above ground before Rory was gunned down. The next time, he was gunned down in the corridor outside. The next, before he could unlock her chains. On and on it went in an endless cycle. They all ended the same way. Failure.

****

A cool hand cupped her cheek gently. She leaned her face into it.

“Welcome back, Frankie,” Rory’s voice was soft and soothing like his hand.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the light in the room. She was back in the fake hospital room.

“Rory?”

“I’m here,” he assured her.

The events of the past days rushed back, and she panicked, frantically trying to sit up. Rory put a restraining hand on her shoulder to push her back down.

“Easy, easy,” he coaxed. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

“No! You don’t understand. She’s coming. She’s going to kill you again and there’s nothing I can do about it.” She was close to hyperventilating.

“Calm down, Frankie. Breath. It was all just a bad dream. It’s over now.” 

“We have to get out of here, Rory! They know. They know…,” she faltered.

“They know everything, Frankie. Everything. You have nothing left to hide.” He smiled down at her, “you made it. You’re one of us now.”

“One of you? What? How?”

“You passed the test. You’re officially a member of Hydra now. No more secrets. No more hiding.”

“Over? It’s over? Truly?” she asked hopefully. She can’t remember the last time she had any hope.

“Truly,” he smiled and leaned down to kiss her cheek. At her sigh, he pulled back slightly and searched her eyes. Her frantic breathing slowed at this longing on his face.

Slowly, he lowered his head and kissed softly. His lips were warm and soft, gentle and non-demanding. It was this that she responded to, that warmth spreading through her body as she kissed him back tentatively. He never deepened the kiss, instead letting her set the pace. When she opened her mouth under his and her tongue touched his upper lip, he responded in kind, exploring her mouth slowly, learning her taste and feel.

She raised her hands to run them through his hair and felt a sharp tug on her right arm. Her quick intake of breath at the pain made him pull away. Grasping her hands gently in his, he lowered them back to her sides on the bed.

“Easy,” he told her softly, “you don’t want to pull out your IV. We’ll have plenty of time to continue this when you’re all better.” He smiled at her forlorn expression. “You need to rest now.”

As if on cue, the machine attached to her IV chimed and a warm wave rolled over her as more morphine was pumped through her system. As her eyes flickered closed, the last thing she saw was Rory, smiling down at her.


	15. Chapter 15

Frankie was back on her feet a couple days later. Rory was there when they released her and escorted her out. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the kiss they had shared. The kiss had been nice. Comforting. Just what she needed at the time. But there hadn’t been a flare of passion to go along with it. Sure, she loved him, but she had never thought of him in a romantic way. The five-year age difference between them had seemed much wider when she was twenty-one and he was sixteen. Now that he had matured and come into his own, it was hard to think of him as the little boy she had pulled off the streets and raised. Witnessing others greeting him differentially as “Commander” as they walked through the facility didn’t help.

Instead of leading her to Level 2, where she and all the others lived, he took her up a level. The facility was built in at least four levels that she knew of. The top level housed the administrative offices and living quarters for the highest tiered members of the facility; specifically, Rory, Percy, Glenda, and the team leaders. It was connected by two shafts with elevators and one with stairs to a non-descript microchip manufacturing plant.

In addition to the living quarters for most of the residents, Level 2 held the cafeteria, a commissary, two recreation rooms, a gym, a shooting range, and a pool. Below that Level 3 was arranged in concentric rings, the inner ring forming a mezzanine that overlooked the hanger and contained the offices of Rory and all the team leads as well as several conference rooms. The next ring out held the labs, equipment rooms, training rooms, and other rooms used by the different teams.

Level 4 consisted primarily of the large hanger, maintenance bays, manufacturing facilities, and numerous smaller hangers. Frankie wasn’t involved in any of the work occurring in this area, so rarely ventured down to the wing. Except for the time she met Rory and he took her to see the secret spaceship Hydra was working on.

There was at least one other level beneath the hanger. That is where Glenda and her team had taken her to be tortured and drug for God only knows how long. The thought of it made her turn cold inside and she reached out to grip Rory’s warm hand. He smiled down at her, not realizing she was just seeking comfort from him. She smiled back weakly and let him think what he wanted.

Of course, there were rumors of even more levels and of secret tunnels leading out of the facility, but Frankie had not found time to investigate and she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to do so now. That thought made her frown. Since when was she timid? Surely, she wasn’t going to let that bitch, Glenda, break her spirit. Oh, no. It would take a lot more than what she had dished out to break Frankie.

She was thinking of ways to make Glenda pay for what she had done and didn’t stop when Rory stopped. Only his pull on her arm and chuckle stopped her. She looked up, blinked, and registered where they were.

“Why are we at your rooms?”

“I have something to show you,” he said with a smile as he opened the door and ushered her through.

She stopped a few steps into the room. Unlike the room she had been assigned, this room was spacious and personalized. Rory’s masculine touch was noticeable in the décor from the dark leather sofa and recliner positioned in front of the large flat-screen TV, to the artwork on the walls. One wall was lined by dark bookshelves that held a variety of books, sculptures, and other odds and ends. A large desk stood in front of them, facing the TV, made from the same dark wood at the shelves. The walls were a light beige that matched the slightly darker carpeting. The only colors in the room were deep oranges and greens and gold accents.

“Nice digs, Commander,” she told him playfully.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped at her unexpectedly.

Frankie turned and saw him frowning. Then he met her eyes and his expression softened.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I hear that all day long from everybody I talk to. I would rather hear you use my name, Frankie.”

Did he not like being the Commander in charge of this facility? Frankie didn’t think that was it. He seemed proud of the fact.

“It’s okay, Rory,” she told him.

He shook his head, “it’s just that you are the only one here that I can just be myself around and it’s really nice. You can’t imagine what it’s like to always have people watching you, monitoring your actions, judging you and your worthiness. It gets old after a while.”

Oh, she could imagine alright she thought, but she held her tongue. Rory just wanted a friend and a sympathetic ear.

“I can imagine that it’s a lot of responsibility, but from what I’ve seen over the last months is that you handle it beautifully. But I’m always here if you need someone to listen.”

He looked at her with his dark eyes, searching hers as if he suspected a trap, a haunted look in his eyes. Then he smiled and that look disappeared.

“Let me show you why I brought you.”

He led her to one of the three doors along the wall opposite the door they had entered. The décor in this room was vastly different. The bed, dresser, and other furniture were crafted from a lighter wood stained a soft gray to give them a slightly distressed look. Deep purples, vibrant blues, and shades of gray used in the materials, carpeting, and walls complemented each other. The light fixtures and decorations were more feminine. It was a bedroom designed for a woman.

“Do you like it?” Rory asked from the doorway. “I remember purple being your favorite color.”

“I don’t understand.”

Actually, she did, but she wanted him to spell it out so there was no misunderstanding his intent.

“It’s for you.” He stepped into the room, two strides taking him to her side. Wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I want you closer to me. I want you to be here with me at the end of each day. I want to curl up on the couch with you and watch TV or just talk. I never realized how much I missed you until you came back into my life. I need you, Frankie. You complete me.”

She faced a decision. If she pushed him away and told him she didn’t feel that way about him, it might jeopardize her plan to save him from Hydra. From what she had seen, his emotions could swing wildly from one extreme to the next when pushed. But leading him on didn’t seem right either. She could save him from Hydra, only to lose him when the truth came to light.

Frankie settled on a half-truth. Turning in the circle of his arm and only stepping away enough to be able to look up at him without hurting her neck, she laid a hand on his chest.

“You know I love you, Rory, but I don’t know if it is the kind of love you’re hoping for. No, let me finish,” she told him when he opened his mouth to say something. “When I last saw you, you were a sixteen-year-old boy, now you’re a grown man. A successful, powerful, grown man. I am having a hard time making that transition. I guess what I’m trying to say and doing a crappy job if the look on your face is any indication, is that I need time. I need to get to know this version of you. If you want the relationship that I think you want, I need to figure out how I feel about you now, not five years ago. Does that make any sense?”

Rory’s face had flushed, and his lips had narrowed into a tight line during her short speech, but at the end, that line had softened somewhat. He nodded.

“It makes a lot of sense. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rush you into something you’re not ready for. It’s just…,” he paused and looked down, “I had such a crush on you that last year.”

“No, you didn’t?” she had never picked up on it.

He nodded and smiled sheepishly, “yeah. I would sometimes sneak into your room at night to watch you sleep.”

She smiled back, ignoring the shiver down her spine, “now that’s just creepy, pervert!”

“If you think that’s creepy, I won’t tell you about peeping on you when you showered.”

“I don’t want to know. Oh my God, you’re a creeper,” she punched him playfully in the arm.

His smile faltered, “so will you take the room?”

God, he looked so much like the sixteen-year-old she remembered.

“Yes,” she smiled gently, “I’ll take the room. But only if you promise not to be a peeping Tom.”

The look in his eyes was of triumph, like he knew he was going to get what he wanted. “Of course. We’ll go at your pace.”

“Besides, this room is awesome and much better than my other one,” she grinned.

“Wait ‘til you see the bathroom.”

****

Rory was good on his word as she settled into her new quarters. It was actually pleasant to spend the evenings with him, either watching something on his TV or just talking. Some things about their work at the facility they could discuss, but there were aspects that Rory couldn’t share with her. They laughed and joked about their past or the people they worked with. 

One thing was clear, though. Their roles had swapped. Rory was now firmly in control and the provider in their relationship. He showed it in little ways. He would bring her little gifts or take her on short trips outside. He steered their conversations away from troublesome topics. When they were walking around the facility together, he would do little things like stop at someone’s office and have her wait for him outside while he had a word with the occupant or stop their walk completely and hurry away to take care of something he had forgotten about. When they ate in the common area, he chose who they ate with.

One day, about a week after she moved in, he brought her a dress as a gift. He had urged her to try it on, so he could see how she looked in it. When she demurred and said she would try it on later, she caught a glimpse of his expression as she left the room to hang it up. It was thunderous with anger and his fists were tightly clenched at his sides. When she came back out, it had returned to normal as if nothing had happened. It served as a reminder of the tight line she was walking with their relationship.  
Shortly after that incident, she rejoined her team full-time. Now that she passed her “test” as they called it, - that made her want to punch someone every time she heard it used – her training was stepping up in intensity. She was assigned a mentor from the security force to learn how to handle and shoot guns for two hours, three times a week. She could definitely say shooting was not her strong point. Even after a month, she still wasn’t consistent enough to be able to cluster a group of shots in a circle smaller that the size of a salad plate. But she could hit what she aimed for, as long as it was bigger than a cat, and protect herself.

Hand to hand combat was more up her alley. She was agile and her ability to pick up on cues from her surroundings and other people’s body language turned out to be quite useful. She could predict if her opponent was going to the left or right or was faking a move. That edge made her just a fraction faster at reacting during a match.

During one of her first matches, something happened that scared the shit out of her. She had been matched previously against three other novices and had taken them out quickly, so her instructor, Gerald, paired her with a more experienced student. Steve was not only more experienced, but bigger and more muscular than Frankie. Gerald’s plan may have been to put her in her place and knock out some of her cockiness, but it backfired.

The first few seconds, she avoided Steve’s punches and kicks, landing a few of her own, but he had just been using those seconds to assess his opponent because he came in strong after she landed a second kick to his side. He was fast and landed a solid blow to the side of her face, then to her stomach, doubling her over. Then he swept her feet out from under her, sending her crashing to the mat. She remembered looking up at his leering face and hearing him say, “that’s how you do it, little girl.” That voice was very familiar.

The next thing she knew was Gerald and two others holding her down with Gerald yelling at her to “calm the fuck down.” Steve was sitting on the other side of the mat, blood pouring from his nose, a gash under one of his eyes and ragged scratches down his arms.

She couldn’t believe she had done that to him. According to the witnesses, and the recording she saw later, she had come unglued and lunged up off the mat at him. She had attacked him ruthlessly, using not only her fists and feet, but her nails and teeth. She hadn’t stopped when Gerald blew the whistle and continued to hammer away at Steve. Finally, Gerald and the two other men had pulled her off him and held her down until she calmed down.

She remembered none of it. That was her last time training for hand to hand combat.


	16. Chapter 16

“If you guys and gals can just stand over here for a moment, the tour will begin in just a few moments.” 

The speaker was a stylish middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Angela and spoke with a soft southern drawl. Frankie turned away from the model she was studying and joined the growing group of people shuffling over to stand where Angela had indicated. Soon, a cluster of fifteen people ranging from a ten-year-old girl to an elderly man wearing a Vietnam Veteran ball cap were gathered and waiting for Angela.

“Welcome to the pentagon, ladies and gentlemen. If you will follow me, we will begin the tour.”

Frankie and the group followed her like a flock of ducklings following their mother as she led them through the pentagon for the next hour, rattling off information and history about the building as she went. Facts like it being the world’s largest office building or that the nation’s capital building would fit entirely within one of its five section. All the same information that anyone could easily find on the internet. What couldn’t be found on the internet were the two additional levels beneath the two basement levels known to the public. Those levels were used for holding and interrogating high level persons of interest. There was also a high-speed monorail connecting the building with a top-secret bunker nearly one hundred miles away in the mountains.

“Everyday 4500 cups of coffee, 1700 pints of milk and 6800 sodas are served to the visitors and occupants of this building. Which reminds me, there are also 284 bathrooms.” This elicited a few laughs from the group. They were back at the mini mall on the southeast side of the building. “And with that, I will release you to have refreshments and wander through the shops. Remember, always keep your visitor badge visible and do not try to go past any of the screening stations at the exits of this area. Thank you for visiting us here at the pentagon and have an enjoyable visit to our nation’s capital.”

Frankie wandered away from the group, angling towards the Burger King in the food court. She was thirsty and had fifteen more minutes before she had to perform her assigned task. She planned to do the tourist bit and buy a souvenir or two since she had never been to DC.

Paying for her soda, she headed for a table to sit for a few minutes. She was more nervous than she would like to admit. There were a lot of military security personnel in this building. If something went wrong, it was likely she might never see the outside world again. But she was committed to getting Rory out, so it was a chance she had to take.

Movement caught her eye as a nondescript man in casual clothes deposited the remains of his lunch in a nearby trash can. The book satchel he carried slipped off his shoulder and he nearly dropped his tray trying to catch it. From a side pocket of the satchel, an envelope dropped to the floor by the bin. He nudged it with his foot to push partially under the bin, then turned and walked away, leaving it behind. That was her cue. All she had to do was get up, walk over to the trash can to throw away her soda, and make a noise about the finding the envelope, chase after the man to return it to him, and generally cause a big distraction.

Once Dean was several feet away, Frankie stood up and strode over to the bin. As she dumped her empty soda, another movement caught her eye, freezing her in place for a second. Walking down the middle of the corridor was Clint Barton. Deep in conversation with the man at his side, he didn’t see her standing there frozen like a scared rabbit. That would end the moment she enacted her part of the plan. She turned her back to him to think.

Well, fuck.

She was between him and the exit, so she could probably make it to the exit without him seeing her and escape undetected, but what about the distraction? An idea came to her and she smiled to herself and walked towards the exit. Once in the line to turn in her visitor badge and leave the building, she looked over her shoulder to locate him. He was listening intently to the other man only thirty feet away from her. 

She quelled her impatience and the two people in front of her in the line chatted with the young man checking visitors out. Finally, she moved up to the table and handed over her visitor ID. After she signed out and handed the clipboard back, she took a deep breath, released it slowly and turned around to face the last person whose attention she wanted. She waved a hand to catch his attention and Barton glanced up to catch her standing there looking straight at him. His eyes widened with recognition and surprise. Frankie gave him a wicked smile and flipped him off, then she spun and dashed for the exit.

Shouts erupted behind her. 

“Frankie, stop!”

“Someone stop that woman!”

A marine with a rifle stepped between her and the exit, “Stop right there!”

Instead of obeying she feigned a dodge to his right, then slipped past him on the left. She ducked under the rifle of the marine coming up behind him and pushed through the nearest door, knocking what looked like an air force officer down in the process. Making a hard turn to her left, she ran to the escalators leading down to the train platform. They were packed with people. It was lunch and one of the high traffic times, that’s why they had planned her distraction for now. To cause the most chaos possible during an already chaotic time.

She was never going to get down to the station ahead of her pursuers with all the people between her and her goal, so she hopped up on the rail and ran down handrail partition between each escalator, her arms flailing to keep her balance. She was counting on the marines not firing into the crowd. Jumping off at the bottom she stumbled several steps, nearly falling, before catching her balance. There was a train at the station preparing to leave, the shrill beeping announcing the closing of the doors. Frankie sprinted across the platform shoving people out of her way and squeezed through the gap just before they closed completely.

Breathing hard from both her mad dash and excitement, she wove through the crowded car and found a place to stand as far from the door as possible. Another series of beeps announced the train’s departure from the station. She steadied herself as the car accelerated forward smoothly and allowed herself a sigh of relief. She had done it. Hopefully, it had been enough of a distraction for the other agents to do what they needed to do. That wasn’t her worry now, though. She just needed to get back to the pickup point within the next two hours.

The car lurched unexpectedly under her, slowing down, then coming to a stop.

Well, fuck.

****

Slumped at the metal table with her head resting on her arms, the least uncomfortable position she could find with her wrists cuffed and attached to the table through a metal loop, Frankie dozed off and on while she waited. This wasn’t her first time in an interrogation room, and she knew the routine well. They would make her wait while they reviewed security footage and researched her. The wait had the added benefit of letting her get worked up with stress or anger. Either would cause her to make mistakes and possibly play right into their hands.

Unfortunately for them, Frankie had no intention of getting worked up. Not only had she been through this before, but she had also trained for it at the facility. Her answers weren’t going to be made up on the fly during the interrogation. No, she had already practiced them multiple times to the point where they would come easier than the truth.

Finally, the door opened and a man in a neat navy-blue suit entered the room with a manila folder in his hand. She would guess he was homeland security or FBI.

“Sorry for making you wait so long, Miss Vigil. Veronica Vigil, right?” He dropped the folder on the table and pulled out the metal chair opposite her, making a nerve jarring screech of metal against concrete.

Sitting down, he looked at her appraisingly, “or is it Mercedes Gonzales? No? How about Liberty Jones?”

She didn’t answer. She just sat there and met his stare calmly.

“I could go on for a while, but I think I’ll use Francesca Cabrini. Or Frankie. That is what your friends call you, right?”

She lifted on shoulder, “Frankie will work, agent…?”

“Special Agent Fuller. Why all the aliases, Frankie?”

“I was homeless for years and now I’m an exotic dancer,” she told him as if it explained everything as she looked behind him at the 2-way mirror. Barton was behind it; she could almost feel his intensity through it. “Why don’t you come question me yourself, Clint?”

Fuller flipped a page in the file, “according to this, stripping isn’t all you have done for a living. Let’s see, two counts of prostitution…,”

“Those charges were dropped,” she never took her eyes off the mirror. “Come on, I promise not to hurt you this time.” She held up her hands in their cuffs as far as she could. “I’m restrained.”

“Three counts of theft…,” Fuller continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Again, no charges were filed. Come on Clint,” she gave a little pout. “You’re much more interesting than Agent Fuller here.”

“Special Agent Fuller,” he corrected. “One count of possession with intent to distribute.” This time he paused rather than let her interrupt again.

“Yeah, that one is right,” she admitted. “I was on my way to a party. How about you Clint? You ever party that hard? I bet you did. I bet you were quite the wild thing when you were young. You know, before you got that stick shoved up your ass.”

Fuller slammed his hand down on the table to get her attention back on him. Frankie didn’t jump, she had anticipated his reaction to be something along those lines. She had thought it would take a couple more questions before he got to that point, though. This one has a short fuse, she thought wryly.

“I don’t think you understand the trouble you’re in, Frankie,” he glowered at her.

“You’re bluffing, Agent Fuller. Possessing a fake ID is at most a misdemeanor,” she focused her attention back on the agent across from her.

“Special Agent Fuller,” he corrected more brusquely this time. “And conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism is not.”

“Terrorism?” she laughed at this, “I’m sure you reviewed the videos before you came in. All I did was go on the tour and have a soda. It was a nice day up until your pet Avenger and marines started to chase me.” She looked back up at the mirror and winked, “I’ll let you search me, Clint, since you seem so keen to get your hands on me.”

“Who are you working with?” Fuller wasn’t giving up.

“Right now, I’m between jobs, but you can ask him,” she indicated the mirror with her chin, “about my last job. He caused me to lose it by kidnapping me.”

“What was your objective?”

“Objective? I just wanted to have a nice day. And maybe pick up a couple of tacky souvenirs. Don’t you think it’s ironic that the souvenirs sold at the pentagon are all made in China?”

Before Fuller could respond, the door opened admitting Barton and another man to the room. The second man stood several inches taller than the Avenger, and Frankie immediately recognized him from TV and her training. 

“Special Agent Fuller,” Nick Fury strode into the room and left Barton holding the door open, “would you give us the room.”

Well, fuck.


	17. Chapter 17

“I’m not finished with Miss Cabrini,” Fuller told Fury without looking up at him.

“Yes, you are,” Fury stood close to the agent, looming over him. “Now get out of here before I do something both of us will regret.”

Fuller considered objecting further, then with a snort, stood up, “fine. Good luck getting anything out of her, though.”

“Oh, I think Frankie and I can reach an understanding quickly,” he gave her a knowing look. “Right, Frankie?”

After the agent left the room in a huff, Fury took the chair he had vacated. Flipping through the file on the table, he gave her a crooked smile.

“Strange thing happened on the way to work this morning. I got a call informing me on a Hydra plan to break into the pentagon. Now that isn’t unusual. I get those kinds of calls almost every day. Hydra’s planning to kidnap the president. Hydra’s planning to steal the codes to arm our nuclear arsenal. Hydra’s planning to blackmail James Quincey into changing the formula for Coca Cola again. Hell, I had to ask who the fuck James Quincey was and why Hydra even cared,” he stopped and laughed.

“You see, Hydra is always planning to do something. But I have to treat every threat as credible until we can prove it isn’t. That’s why your good friend,” he nodded at Barton, “was at the pentagon this morning. Do you care to know what he found?” Fury leaned back in the chair and looked at Frankie.

Frankie looked blandly back at him, not bothering to glance at Barton though she was acutely aware of his presence, “a bunch of cheap tchotchkes made in China? You know, that’s ironic: the souvenirs sold at the pentagon being made in China. Patriotism be damned; it’s all about the bottom line, isn’t it?”

Fury didn’t smile, “you think this is funny?”

“No, not in the least. I’m hungry, my ass hurts from sitting in this hard ass chair, and my patience with this bullshit is wearing thin. Look, let me save you some time,” she ground out. “I don’t know shit. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s just how my shitty luck goes. You got me for having a false ID, that’s it. Charge me or let me go. I’m through talking to you.”

“I told you she was charming,” Barton said as he leaned against the door.

“I should have stabbed you twice,” she snapped, finally looking at him.

Before Fury could answer, his phone dinged. Looking down at the text, he frowned and stood.

“As much as I hate to end this lovely chat we’re having, I have to step out.”

Barton stepped away from the door and held it open for Fury, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Fury looked at him, then back at Frankie, “just don’t give her anything sharp.”

“Wasn’t planning to get that close.”

Fury looked like he was going to say something else, but his phone dinged again, and he left the room.

The two of them waited in silence for several seconds before Frankie gave in and spoke.

“So, you survived the crash.”

He came over to stand across from her and leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. “Yeah, you held on long enough for us to get close to a building. When I was thrown out, I went through a window and landed in an empty office. Thanks for that.” He nodded at her.

“Thanks for that?” Frankie sputtered. “That’s all you have to say? You stalked me, chased me down a fire escape, then you fucking drugged and kidnapped me! If you hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have been in the jet in the first place.”

He shrugged off her tirade. “If you hadn’t stabbed me, I wouldn’t have had to hunt you down.”

Frankie lurched up as far as she could with her wrists cuffed to the table. “If you hadn’t killed Rory, I wouldn’t have stabbed you!” she yelled at him.

Barton didn’t maintain his nonchalance either. He stepped up to the table, shoving the chair out of his way and leaned over until he was just a few inches from her face. “If I killed him, it was because he was a piece of shit criminal that deserved it,” he snarled.

“He wasn’t a criminal, you bastard. He was just a kid. A sixteen-year-old kid who had spent the weekend studying for his SAT exam so he could go to college and make a better life for himself instead of living on the streets and eating garbage. He was just a sixteen-year-old kid,” her throat constricted, and she had to swallow hard. “He had his whole life ahead of him. He wanted to build low-cost housing so that other kids like him could have homes. He had his whole life ahead of him and now he’s,” she had to stop. She almost said, “caught up in Hydra’s madness,” instead of dead.

She slumped back into her chair and looked down at her hands, blinking to keep the tears at bay.

Barton looked down at her with a pained expression, then pulled the chair over and sat down.

“Tell me what happened.”

Frankie shook her head and refused to look up.

“Tell me what I did,” he asked softly.

She raised her head and met his eyes. It was the sadness in them that made her speak.

“We were on our way to dinner. I promised him dumplings from Wangs. They were his favorite. When we got to Douglas and 137th, we heard a big commotion and there was a crowd of people gathered at the intersection. Of course, Rory wanted to see what was going on, so he pushed our way through the crowd.”

She shook her head, “and there you were. You were dressed in black, but your hood was pushed back so we could see your face.” She stopped and looked up, tear in her eyes. “Rory was so excited. An actual fucking Avenger,” she stumbled over the name. “Even then, with half of those that were left blaming you for failing, even then he was still thrilled to get to see one of you guys in action.”

Frankie took a breath and steadied her voice, “anyway, there you were, fighting with four guys. I remember laughing because you had a sword and they had these big-ass guns.” She smiled faintly at the memory. “You got to admit, that is pretty ridiculous.”

Barton chuckled, “you should have seen me using a bow and arrows against the aliens with laser guns.”

“Maybe you should ask for an upgrade.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The moment of levity gave her a chance to get her emotions under control a bit so she could continue more calmly. “Well, you were kicking their asses with what you had. But the fight was moving away from the intersection. Most of us were ready to go about our business, but not Rory. He and a couple others followed you guys down 137th. About halfway down the block, there was a building, the old Murray building, undergoing renovations. There was scaffolding set up in front of it. To go down the street, you either had to walk in the street itself, or under the scaffolding. Rory and the guys with him stayed under the scaffolding, since it kind of hid them from sight. Or at least, that’s what one of the guys told a reporter later.”

“By that time, there were only two of the guys you were fighting left. One of them jumped into a car and attempted to run you down with it.”

“I remember that. They were running drugs for a cartel and had killed an undercover ATF agent.”

“Good, so you remember shooting out the tire of the car with your bow?”

He nodded solemnly, “yes. Then I went after the last guy on foot.”

“You didn’t see what happened after you shot the car’s tire?”

“No, I was too focused on the last guy. He had information that would lead me to the man behind everything.”

“Well, I hope it was worth the life of a sixteen-year-old boy, because that car crashed into the scaffolding and the old building façade. The whole thing collapsed. It buried Rory and the two guys with him.”

Burton looked down at his hands, “I didn’t know.”

“No, you were too busy going after the bad guy that you forgot to be a hero.”

“I was nobody’s hero during that time.”

“Well, at least we can agree on that.” 

They sat in silence, each contemplating their loss.

Barton broke the silence, “how do we move on from here?”

“What?”

“Nothing that I say can excuse what I did. Nothing I say will bring your Rory back.”

“You got that right.”

“Killing me won’t bring him back either. If anything, it just made your life that much more difficult.”

“And again, you’re right. What do you want to do then? I hope you don’t want me to forgive you, because that ain’t happening.”

He smiled, “can’t blame me for trying, can you?”

“Give me a knife and ask that again.”

He laughed this time. “Oh, no. I’m not that stupid.”

“Then how about letting me go on with my life and staying the hell away?”

“Is that what you’re doing? Going on with your life?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You dropped off the face of the planet.”

“That’s what I do. Hell, that’s what anyone would do if an Avenger tried to kidnap them and botched it the fuck up.”

“Is that all?”

Frankie moaned and dropped her head onto her arms, “and we’re back to the interrogation.”

Sighing, she looked up at Barton with weary eyes, “just ask me what you want.”

“Are you working for Hydra?”

“No.” Technically, she was working for herself to free Rory from them.

“Why were you at the pentagon today?”

“I was testing out my new ID. I figured if it could pass the screening to get me into the pentagon, then it was good. Really good.”

“Why did it need to be that good?”

“Because I need an ID to get a decent job and not have you breathing down my neck. I didn’t want you to be able to track me down again.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie.

He opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the door opening. Fury stuck his head into the room.

“We’re done here.”

Barton cocked his head, “what about her?”

“She’s not our problem anymore. Nothing’s out of place, nothing’s missing, everyone is accounted for. Looks like we got some bad intel. Let’s go.”

“Give me a minute.”

Fury shot him a curious look but didn’t say anything as he let the door close. Frankie looked at Barton with a cocky smile, “told you.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making bits of it stand at odd angles to his head. “I know it won’t make any difference, but I’m sorry about Rory. He didn’t deserve that. Neither did you. But…,”

“Let me stop you there,” Frankie interrupted. “You’re about to say some bullshit about how you know that, deep down, I’m basically a good person. That I shouldn’t let this define who I am. Or some other drivel along that line.”

“Yeah, some drivel like that,” he conceded with a wry smile.

“Well, I’m not basically a good person, no matter how deep you go. I’m not a bad person either. I’m just trying to get by the best I can in a world that don’t give a rat’s ass about me or my problems. You didn’t give a shit about me or Rory. Not really. All you cared about was getting the person that drove a knife into your gut and left you to die. So, you can keep that apology. I don’t want it. Nor do I want any advice from you. Get the fuck out of here and leave me alone.”

She didn’t say anything else to Barton as he got up and went to the door. He paused for a moment before opening it and met her angry gaze.

“I’m not your enemy, Frankie.”

“You’re sure as hell not my friend, Clint. You killed the only one I had.”

She waited until the door closed behind him before slumping back onto the table to hide her face from anyone watching from behind the mirror. Finding out that the mission had been aborted was infuriating. She had gotten caught and gone through the last   
few hours for no reason. Hell, Dean had probably aborted the moment she veered off script.

Now, she had to just wait to be released and go back for her debrief.


	18. Chapter 18

Unfortunately for Frankie, Agent Fuller decided to charge her with using a fake ID to gain access to a government facility. During the two weeks she awaited trial, Rory managed to get a message to her through one of the guards at the detention facility where she was being held. The mission had been a success thanks to her quick thinking, but they couldn’t afford to bring any attention to her connection with Hydra by getting her released. They were going to exert some influence over the judge that had her case and get her sentenced to the minimum amount of time allowed and sent to a low security federal facility. True to his word, she was sentence to eighteen months with time served, and parole in eight months to FCI Danbury in Connecticut.

Her cell mate was a quiet woman named Rachel who was serving three years for obstruction. The doctor she worked for had created files for fake patients and prescribed pain medication. Various middlemen had filled the prescriptions, then sold the drugs at ten times their cost. The doctor got half of the profits. It was going well, until the good doctor got too greedy. With the crackdown on opioids, the feds had taken notice of the amount of prescriptions he was writing and opened an investigation on his office. Tipped off that his office was going to be raided and his files taken, he called Rachel and had her shred all his files. She complied without question, loyal to her employer. When the feds arrived and caught her in the act of shredding their evidence, she was arrested.

A mousey little woman who barely reached Frankie’s shoulders, she feared everything and everyone in the prison. In other words, she was useless as an ally. Frankie couldn’t help but feel sorry for her though.

At lunch her first day in the general population, Frankie surveyed the different groups scattered around the room. Some were self-explanatory. Two separate groups of Latina women clustered together; one with a few visible gang tattoos. There were four groups of African American women; Rachael pointed out two of them.

“Those are Bloods and the ones in the far corner are Crips. Most of the time, they just ignore each other, but they tend to follow the tide from outside. If the two gangs are fighting out there, things can get pretty intense in here. That one with the long blonde hair is the leader of the Crips gang in here, Nita. Right now, she and Tanisha, the Blood with short natural hair, have an uneasy alliance.”

“An alliance?”

“Yeah, there’s a new group that formed up in the last year,” she nodded to a group of twelve women occupying a table in the middle of the room. “They seem to have a lot of resources at their disposal, though.”

The group was hard to define as there was no unifying attribute for its members; they were a mix of races and ages. Some had tattoos, most didn’t. The other women in the room gave them a wide berth.

“Who are they?”

Rachael shrugged, “nobody knows for sure, but rumors say Hydra.”

“Hydra? Really? There’s that many of them?”

“Like I said, it’s just a rumor. Who knows, they might be something completely different.”

Frankie nodded. If they were Hydra, she needed to avoid them. Rory’s message had cautioned her to lay low. She couldn’t risk being associated with them if she wanted to stay under SHIELD’s radar. 

Other groups were made up of individuals that were in for similar crimes; junkies that were in for stealing to support their drug habits, murderers, sex offenders, white collar criminals. The group of murderers was small, only four women sitting quietly by themselves in a corner of the lunchroom. Frankie recognized one of them; her face had been on every television and newspaper for weeks after she had been apprehended and again when her trial had begun. A whistle blower for a large banking firm, when the executives had been acquitted of fraud, she had taken it upon herself to exact justice.

“This is a medium security prison,” Frankie observed. “How is Melissa Cho even here?”

“She had a good lawyer.”

“Must have been a hell of a good lawyer.”

****

During lunch on her third day, a tall, thin woman approached their table as they ate.

“Hail Hydra.”

Frankie looked up from her tray and frowned at the woman, “I think you have the wrong person.”

The woman continued to stare down at her, “I don’t think so.”

Fuck. Now what? The last thing Frankie wanted was to start trouble and end up on the wrong side of any of the gangs in here.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble…,” she started.

“Then don’t cause any,” the woman interrupted, leaning down so that her face was only inches from Frankie’s. “Say the damn words and get your ass over to our table where you belong. You don’t want to piss us off.”

So, this was the way it was going to be, Frankie thought. It was going to be a long eight months.

She started to stand and a firm hand on her shoulder pushed her back down onto the bench.

“Is there a problem here, Leena?” Melissa Cho said from behind her, leaving her hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

Leena took a step away from the table and considered Melissa for a moment.

“No, there’s no problem, Melissa. Just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

With that she winked at Frankie and returned to her own table.

Frankie looked over at Rachael, still frozen in mid chew, her eyes huge, then turned and looked up at her savior.

“Thank you.”

“Come on, get your tray and join us,” Melissa removed her hand and turned away, expecting Frankie to follow her.

“Can…, can Rachael come too?” she asked the woman’s back.

Melissa stopped and looked at the two of them. “If I say no?”

“Then I’m staying right here.” She wasn’t going to leave her cellmate with a target on her back and no protection.

Melissa sighed, “then bring her. But you’re responsible for her, not me.”

Once at the table with Melissa, Frankie couldn’t restrain herself, “why are you helping me?”

The other three women looked at Melissa quietly, leaving it to her to explain.

“Our lawyer contacted us and let us know that we needed to look after you,” she said quietly.

“Why?” Frankie was confused.

Melissa shrugged, “I don’t know. She said she was calling in a favor for getting me sentenced to this place instead of some maximum-security hole.”

“Same here,” another one of the four added and the other two nodded.

After that incident, Frankie and Rachael found themselves on the same rotation as Melissa and the other three women. Heather was in for killing her abusive husband; she ran over him with his truck. Five times. The funeral had to be closed casket. Nora had a long record of petty crimes until she took part in a bank heist that resulted in a dead security guard and two dead hostages, one by her hand. Justine was a suspected serial killer but could only be directly tied to one victim, so she was serving just one life sentence.

They all had been represented by the same firm. A firm that had somehow managed to have them serve their sentences in a medium security facility. The same firm that had represented Frankie.

Rory was watching out for her after all.

****

Under the protection of Melissa and the others, Rachael transformed from quiet, fearful to cheerful, outgoing, and helpful. She started helping other inmates by providing tutoring lessons for free. Having a master’s degree in business, she helped others with their finances by showing them how to budget and open savings accounts. When tax season rolled around two months after Frankie’s arrival, some of the prison guards sought out her help with their taxes.

Leena and one of her cronies had tried to corner Frankie twice outside of the lunchroom, but Frankie was adept at avoiding people when she needed to and managed to elude the Hydra thug both times. The woman had been reduced to glaring impotently at her during mealtimes, much to Frankie’s amusement.

With Rachael busy most of the time, Frankie spent most of her time with Melissa and Heather, who turned out to be easy companions, despite their crimes. Frankie developed a bond with them during their hours together. The women talked about their lives outside of prison and what they would have done differently if given the chance. When Frankie told them the story about Rory, both were horrified at the carelessness of the Avenger.

“That is exactly why they need to be regulated,” Heather pointed out. “I mean, this Hawkeye isn’t even a powered person and look at how much damage he’s done.”

“Yeah, but what happened with Captain America shows that they can’t be regulated. When they say ‘fuck you and your rules’ who is going to make them comply? Iron Man couldn’t and he was one of them,” Frankie argued.

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do? Just sit back and let them do whatever they want?”

“I don’t know if there is an answer, Heather. What I tried backfired on me.”

“What did you do?” Melissa asked.

Frankie told them about stabbing Clint and the events that unfolded afterwards, leaving out the part about her joining a secret Hydra cell hidden deep underground. Afterwards, both women looked at her with more respect.

“You’ve got balls of steel, girl,” Melissa told her with a sharp laugh, slapping her on the back.

“For all the good it did me. All I succeeded in doing was getting on SHIELD’s radar.” 

“And Hydra’s, apparently,” Heather added.

****

Frankie decided to spend her time in prison expanding her knowledge. Checking out a basic physics textbook from the library, she quickly learned that her lack of skills in mathematics was going to limit how much she could learn from the more advanced sciences. Consulting Rachael, she picked up two basic math books from the library.

Having dropped out of school shortly after her 14th birthday, when she ran away from her foster home, at first it was slow going. But after a couple of weeks, she had gotten the hang of studying again and, with a little mentoring from both Rachael and Melissa, she began to pick up the pace and started to enjoy learning. She found that she loved working with fractions but hated square roots.

Sitting alone one afternoon, trying to get the hang of factoring, she was startled by Lucy, one of the junkies, running up to the open cell door.

“They have Rachael! You have to come,” Lucy panted, bent over trying to catch her breath.

“Who?” Frankie pushed her book aside and sprang up from the bed.

“Leena and two of her girls.”

“Where?” Frankie asked as she shoved past the winded woman.

“The Gee-dunk room,” Lucy called after her as she sprinted away.

She stopped by Melissa’s cell block, but her friend was not around and nobody on the block knew where she was. Frankie briefly considered searching for her but didn’t know if Rachael had that much time. She left a message for Melissa and continued without backup.

Hurrying towards the north wing, Frankie went over what she knew about the layout of the area. The gee-dunk room was what the inmates had called the area that held vending machines years ago, before reduced funding and dietary guidelines had shut them down. Now the area was used to store excess tables and chairs from the lunchroom, but habits die hard and the area was still called the gee-dunk room.

There were two ways in, through the unused gym locker room on the east and the corridor from the lunchroom on the west. Leena would have lookouts posted at both, but the locker room provided some cover with the two rows of lockers. That way was the closer of the two sealed it for Frankie.

She slowed down when she reached the gym. At this time of day, there should be a few women inside using the machines, but as she looked in the small, square window in the door, the room was dark and still. Leena wasn’t taking a chance of having witnesses.

Frankie pushed the door open slowly with her foot. One of the hinges squeaked softly as it opened inwards. She froze and listened intently but didn’t hear any other noise. She pushed the door open enough to slip through then eased it closed. Allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, she could make out the shapes of the exercise machines, benches, and weight racks. She made her way over to a rack and picked up a ten-pound dumbbell to use as a weapon.

At the back of the room was a door to the locker room. This door didn’t have a window, so she had to turn the knob and push it open slightly to see inside. The locker room was dark also. Frankie frowned. Why wouldn’t they be guarding this entrance?

Warily pushing through the door, Frankie put her back to the wall and skirted around the right side of the room, keeping a row of lockers between her and the door in the back. With the glimpses she caught of it, there was light showing through the crack under the door. As she drew nearer, she could hear voices from the other side as well, then a strangled cry that could have only been Rachael.

Throwing caution to the wind, Frankie raced to the door and kicked it open, hoping to have the element of surprise on her side. What she had forgot in her rush was the light in the room. Momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness, she could only manage to make out shapes and movement. One of the figures lurched towards her and she swung the weight hard. The impact made a sickening crunch and the figure dropped to the floor at her feet.

Before she could turn to face movement to her left, a hard object, she wasn’t the only one that had grabbed a dumbbell, struck her in the back of the head, dropping her to her knees. Another blow from behind knocked her forward to land on the still figure on the floor. 

Before consciousness faded, she heard Leena from somewhere above her.

Nobody is untouchable, Frankie.”

****

Sometime later, maybe just seconds, maybe hours, Frankie’s eyes flickered open. Pushing herself up carefully, she stared in shock at the body she was laying on. Rachael’s empty eyes stared at her in accusation. Her left temple was caved in from a blow from a dumbbell. Frankie looked around and found hers on the floor inches away from where she had dropped it.

Blood had dripped off it, forming a puddle the size of half-dollar on the floor.


End file.
